


The Finer Points of Redemption

by ThreeWhiskeyLunch



Series: Madness Because The Reasons Don't Make Sense [11]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Memories, Children, Established Relationship, Family Drama, Family Feels, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Sex, M/M, Mating Bites, Vaksani, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-20 15:10:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 44,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4792007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThreeWhiskeyLunch/pseuds/ThreeWhiskeyLunch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zaeed and Garrus embrace the idea of parenthood for the two orphans that have landed in their laps and officially file adoption papers. But when someone from Zaeed's past has his own ideas about revenge, it challenges their new family in ways none of them expected. </p><p>Rated M for Zaeed's swearing, minor character death, child endangerment, and eventually a little bit (er...ok, it turned into more than a little bit) of interspecies smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I have written for these two that is mostly plot driven. I'm sure there will be moments when you ask yourself what the hell does she think she's doing, and if anything major comes up like that you feel is odd or not quite right or whatever, please feel free to comment. This work is complete for first draft, but I'm still editing later chapters, so anything unclear or just plain idiotic could be fixed if necessary. The plan is to post twice a week on Sundays and Wednesdays. Tags will be added as the story progresses.
> 
> Ingrid's face reference is [ here ](http://threewhiskeylunch.tumblr.com/image/133042591373).
> 
> Right. So here we go...

**2190, 3 years after the end of the Reaper War (Present Day)**  
**Venice Beach, California, Earth**  
  
California steps into summer like any other day, shrugging with the nonchalance of being used to sun and fine breezes and the smell of salt air. Just another day of walking Paxton to school and then taking Ingrid on a seashell hunt along the beach on their way home, holding her hand to keep her from going too far out in the water with his boots tied and thrown over a shoulder and pants rolled up to the knees. Another day of reading through childhood development books like he used to read field manuals for sniper mods, searching the extranet for Turian growth standards and cultural norms that he doesn't want to bother Garrus with while he's out on a mission, fixing the leaky faucet in the kitchen for bloody well the last goddamn time. Another day of figuring out what to make for dinner and how to get out the strange greasy stain that had 'mysteriously' appeared on Paxton's trouser knees.  
  
Had he been asked, and he knew no one would be stupid enough to ask him, he wouldn't have said he was bored exactly. It was just...different. Going from full-tilt adrenaline surges, taking out mercs and planning how to put down riots to the daily mundanities of school lunches, stumbling over toys left on the floor, and enforcing a little girl’s reluctant nap-times left some serious holes in the brain that desperately want to be filled. He recognizes the importance of providing stability for these two little monsters that have managed to take over his and Garrus' lives. And he'd decided by the first day of them entrenching themselves into the apartment that there was no way in hell he'd do anything other than his best by them. But he still feels a bit of longing when Garrus packs up his gear to head out on another mission for the Council. It's goddamn difficult to resist the lure of space after spending most of his life Up There, boots stomping across gangways onto new worlds or breathing in the scent of recycled air onboard a ship or finding a new hidey-hole on Omega that wouldn't attract the attention of the Blue Suns or the Blood Pack. Goddamn difficult to watch his mate go off into danger and not have him-or anyone else for that matter-to watch his six, especially difficult when Garrus comes home with a fresh wound that he knows will scar and a look in his eye that belies his mate’s cavalier attitude about what he had just survived. An attitude that nearly breaks his already fucked up heart.  
  
Not that he would ever ask Garrus to quit; he would rather cut out his own tongue. It's too important to his mate, what he does as a Spectre. And Zaeed can't help but feel a touch of pride that the Turian is so good at his job. So he makes the time Garrus spends at home worthwhile by pointing out that he looks like shit when he walks in the door, but not staring pointedly at the charred streaks across his armor or noticing the haunted look that flashes across his face for a brief moment before it eases as the children come barrelling into the room. Not that it happens like that every time he comes home, but there are moments when Zaeed has to wonder that it wouldn't have been better if the Reapers had indeed wiped them all out after all given the way sentient beings treated one another on their worst days.  
  
"I'm telling you, asshole. She's biotic."  
  
Zaeed squints against the morning sun that slants in through the dining room window, Jack's face a translucent shimmer on his omnitool. He grunts, not sure he really wants to hear this from his friend. No. He's definitely sure he doesn't want to hear this. It opens up all sorts of complications as far as Ingrid's future is concerned. He sighs. Nothing can ever be simple. "She's only five. How can you even know?"  
  
"I can't believe you're fucking asking me that, old man. I saw what I saw. She moved that chair, tipped it right over. Shit like that always happens when you ask me to watch her." She points at him through the screen. "You don't want to hear it, then stop fucking asking me to babysit the brats."  
  
Zaeed sighs again, his eyes drawn to the particular brat in question, her shock of blue eyes-how could any child's eyes be so large, he'll never know-peering at him over the table. Jack isn't telling him anything he and Garrus hadn't already suspected. But still. He jerks his head at her, "Yeah, we're talking about you. Get over here, little duck."  
  
She's all sharp elbows and skinny legs sticking out of a bright yellow sundress as she climbs up onto his lap, her warm tiny body pressing up to him. Her fingers immediately twist at a button on his shirt, a nervous habit he doesn't have the heart to discourage her from. She smells like the beach they were just at, brine and heat and sweat, her curls slightly damp at her forehead. She sees Jack and smiles shyly when the biotic waves her fingers at her before she tucks her face against his chest. He brings up his other hand to hug her to him. She's just so...goddamn small and fragile. That she could possibly have any sort of biotic power tumbling through her tiny cells nearly makes him shudder. It seems like it would break her apart.  
  
"Alright," he narrows his eyes at Jack. "We'll keep an eye on her."  
  
"You better do more than that. She could manifest any time in the next five years. And not just some whimpy biotic, either. Leave it to you to pick a mighty mouse. If you don't know what you're doing-"  
  
"I said alright," he snaps at her. "Send me information and I'll read it. It's not going to happen tomorrow, if it does. If." She scoffs at his doubts while she taps at her omnitool, and he hears the answering ping on his as her message is received. Yeah, great. More reading.  
  
Jack grins at him, "So, when’re you idiots gonna finally just get over yourselves and adopt them?"  
  
He blinks, poker-faced and nonplussed, "Don't know what you're talking about."  
  
She cackles, "Yeah, right. You’ve got it so bad for babies. You’re gonna be a daddy." Her mock is a sing-song through his omnitool.  
  
He huffs at her, but his heart isn’t in it. They’ve told no one that they’ve started the adoption paperwork, not wanting to get anyone’s hopes up until it’s a sure thing. “Bye, Jack.”  
  
"Bye, old man. Bye, brat!" Ingrid peeks over, waves her fingers briefly before returning them to his button. He sighs as he shuts down the vidcall, watching her twist the button back and forth with a mixture of amusement and resignation. Never thought he'd be the type to learn to sew a goddamn button onto a goddamn shirt, but some things come from necessity.  
  
He brushes a smudge of dried sand off her knee. "Biotic, huh," he mutters. But if she is, there's nothing to be done except deal with it. It is what it is and hardly her fault. Whatever happened to her in her past will more than likely always remain a mystery.  
  
She looks up at him, questioning in her gaze. She doesn't have an answer for him. She never has an answer, her voice still silent even though there's no medical reason for it. He wonders if she'll ever speak. And even though they’ve all started to learn sign language, it’s still not the same. Another thing he can’t control.  
  
He turns his attention back to the table and the rifle he has disassembled for cleaning. He brushes off the strange feeling of melancholy that sits uncomfortably in his gut. "Right, which one is the stock again," he asks her. "Getting too old to remember." She points at the gun's stock without hesitation. "Are you sure? Thought that was a bullet." Her head shakes quickly, pats the stock with her slim fingers. "Well, if you're sure. What goes next?"  
  
She points to each piece in order as they put the rifle back together.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zaeed had made a promise to himself: before pursuing Garrus, he had some unfinished business with Vido Santiago to take care of. Nice of Kaidan to invite him along to the party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> zomg...plot. This takes place about three months before The I Never Night.

**late 2188, approximately 15 months after the end of the Reaper War**  
 **Sanctum, Decoris, Sigurd's Cradle**  
  
It was a shitstorm. No question Vido Santiago had put everything he had into what basically amounted to a last stand, desperation making him sloppy and impulsive. It was enough to get them all killed, Vido included. And maybe that’s what he wanted after spending the last few years on the run, to make it all stop and take however many others down with him. Zaeed was pretty damned sure if Vido knew he was out there, he wouldn’t hesitate to do just that.  
  
What he was thinking kidnapping the female Krogan shaman Krek Kranda, Zaeed won't ever know. And frankly he didn’t care. It had brought down the wrath of the Krogan, and by extension the Council, onto Vido’s head. Zaeed was just happy to tag along with Kaidan, Wrex, and Grunt to witness what he hoped would be an end to twenty-some years of hanging onto an old grudge.  
  
“You gonna take that rifle out to dinner before you fuck it, Massani? Or you gonna shoot it?” Wrex’ voice, full of rocks and irritation, intruded into his train of thought, brought him back to the situation at hand.  
  
“The hell are you on about?”  
  
“Well, it’s just, the way you’re holding it, seemed like you were thinking about doing anything else with it than using as it was made for. You know. Shooting. I hear these reports about you and your badassedness and all I see is someone who likes to daydream like a little girl.” The Krogan peered around the rock he was using for cover, fired off several rounds from his rifle before switching over to his shotgun. He was getting ready to charge into the fray. Kaidan only needed to give the word.  
  
Zaeed sniped a Batarian-and oh how he loved to snipe goddamn Batarians-and searched for another target. “Never hurts to daydream a little. Especially when imagining ripping off a Krogan’s plates.” The rifle kicked in his hands while Wrex laughed.  
  
“Try it, Massani. I’ll rip your arms off.”  
  
Kaidan’s voice interrupted over the comm. “Shut it, you two. Piss on each other’s shoes later. We go in fifteen seconds.”  
  
“Roger that.” Zaeed shifted, picked his next cover for when they move forward. Vido had himself entrenched in an old mining cave at the far end of the valley they were moving through. A separate team had infiltrated the mine through the ventilation shafts, armed with explosives and a cocktail of Batarian and Human gaseous neural toxin. That plus the planet's occasional tendency to blow carbon dioxide around and he didn't resist the urge to check the seals on his helmet. It wouldn’t do to end up sleeping like a goddamn baby through the whole thing.  
  
A staticked voice came over the comm from somewhere deep in the mine, “Detonation in three-two-one-” A deep rumble could be heard and within half a minute the mine entrance spewed a thick, dusty cloud. If it all went to plan (and Zaeed had doubts about plans in general) the cave would be cut in two, allowing those in the valley to pick off anyone who tried to exit.  
  
He pushed forward, following behind Wrex who surged down the hillside, shotgun primed. “Alright, princess, let’s see if there’s any badass left in you.”  
  
Zaeed took position at his next sniper’s spot and peered through the scope. “Movement at the cave entrance.” A few souls spilled out, choking on dust. His vision was momentarily blocked as Grunt’s squad ran in front of him. “Goddamn fat Krogan ass. Get outta the way.”  
  
Grunt laughed. “You know you like it, Massani. Just giving you a better view.” He stopped for a brief moment and gave his tail a shake for good measure.  
  
By the time he could see again, there was no one at the cave entrance and he had to spend some time searching for targets. “All under cover. Two behind the crates. One behind the Mako.” He scanned again. “Another behind the pylons.” That particular Batarian moved enough so that his head peeked out and Zaeed took the shot. “Scratch that. Just the three.”  
  
“Aw, princess. You didn’t have to get me a present.” Wrex and his squad charged in, taking out the guy behind the Mako while Grunt and his squad happily got the others.  
  
 _Too easy,_ he thought. _This is too easy._  
  
Which is when it all went to shit.  
  
~~~~~  
  
There was a second explosion. Of course there was a second explosion. He found out later it was triggered by someone deep inside the cave, one of the infiltrators. It brought down much of the back end of the cave on anyone inside. Kaidan. Kaidan’s special ops team. Anyone else left. Grunt’s squad found no Vido, no Krek Kranda in the front of the cave as they searched, just a few Humans and one Batarian passed out from the gas.  
  
Wrex raged, the ground nearly shaking as he stomped out of the mine entrance. "This friend of yours is a piece of work."  
  
"Not my goddamn friend."  
  
Then Kaidan’s voice could be heard on the comm. He and another biotic were holding a combined barrier over two more of his team. An entire fucking mountain rested on their shoulders. Zaeed gave the man credit for his sheer power of will. Too many minutes of digging, Kaidan’s voice getting weaker and Zaeed was rethinking, examining the debris as he helped dig. He was pretty goddamn certain neither Vido nor Kranda would be under the rubble if they look for them. He watched Wrex, debating. There could still be tunnels in the caves that hadn’t collapsed, especially in an area that had less damage that he eyed with suspicion.  
  
He contacted their ship topside. Would be good to have eyes up there looking for any vessels trying to leave atmo.  
  
Once the four were out from under, shaking off dust and Kaidan and an Asari collapsing into a heap, he pulled Wrex aside. “My money’s on a back tunnel. Escape route.” He nodded in the general direction. “We’re not gonna find Vido or your shaman under all this shit.”  
  
The Krogan looked pissed. But then, when didn’t a Krogan look pissed? “Why didn’t you say something before, you stupid ass pyjak?” He pulled his shotgun from it’s holster and stormed off, tagging Grunt as he passed by.  
  
“Well for one, I kinda like Kaidan,” Zaeed muttered after him. “‘Sides, Shepard’d have my hide if I could have helped and hadn’t. And there’s no rush. Vido thinks he’s got us fooled.”  
  
They found the entrance to the escape tunnel with the help of sounding equipment, hidden behind some storage crates and a sealed door half-buried in rubble. Good thing there were a bunch of Krogan around to move all that rock.  
  
Kaidan agreed readily to the plan, too weak to make much of an argument. Wrex, Grunt, Zaeed, and one of Kaidan’s team-an Asari named Treet, would go into the tunnel and scout ahead. They could be followed above ground with the help of a tracking device Zaeed secured to his armor. And hopefully they could catch up before Vido did something really stupid.  
  
The tunnel was half natural, half sculpted by machine, enlarged enough only for one abreast, but tall enough that Wrex could move through without having to duck his hump too much. Treet snuck forward, the only sign of her - if a person knew where to look - a slight shimmer in the near darkness. She moved slowly, checking for traps with her omnitool as she went and Zaeed could feel the impatience of both Krogan at his back, hot breath making him itch. But both were surprisingly quiet for a change, perhaps realizing the less noise they make the better. Or just wrapped up in their own dark thoughts. Which Zaeed had no desire to be curious about.  
  
Treet didn't find any traps though and the longer they were in the tunnel, the more Zaeed figured Vido honestly hadn't believed he’d have his getaway found out, which meant either something had gone wrong in the explosion, or Vido had acted impulsively, using a backup plan that he hadn’t really intended to implement. He didn’t really care which. He just wanted to catch up with the bastard and wring his fucking neck until his big fat ugly head popped off. Or something.  
  
They could see a dim light ahead as they neared the end of the tunnel. The rest of the ground force was still tracking from above, but were being held behind by the thick forest undergrowth and rough terrain. A path leading away from the tunnel entrance could be clearly seen, foliage recently disturbed by something as large as a female Krogan. Zaeed wondered how Vido had gotten her to comply. Not just anything would cajole the shaman to do his bidding.  
  
Treet scanned for traps again, but she was cocky. Forgotten, or never learned, that some people liked to do things old school. Maybe he should have told her to expect it, maybe he wasn’t responsible for people knowing how to do their job, maybe it was just shitty luck. But he saw the thin wire reflect in the sun just as her boot skimmed it and her body was flung back with the force of the explosion, a loud boom echoing through the trees.  
  
Bad to worse. Probably not the end of it either. Fuck it all. Fuck Vido. Fuck the Blue Suns. Fuck Shepard for letting him get away. Fuck himself for setting off that explosion on Zorya in the first place.  
  
Fuck it fuck it fuck it.  
  
The explosion knocked him back and he picked himself up in a hurry knowing time had turned short. Vido would know they had figured out his escape route, would be picking up his pace. If he hadn’t already gone airborne. Wrex radioed back to base, alerting them of the immediacy of keeping eyes on the sky ahead of them. The two Krogan had already moved ahead on the path, any sort of ideas about stealth tossed aside.  
  
Zaeed took a moment to check Treet’s pulse, but there was more damage than not and he didn’t hold out much hope for her. Still he owed her to be sure. He moved on after confirming his suspicions, running to catch up with the Krogan, ignoring Wrex and the tirade that spewed from his mouth like rocks falling down a mountain. _Yeah,_ he thought, _it was fucked up. Don't have to say it twice._  
  
They could hear the sound of an engine whine, probably a shuttle, and slowed down as they approached a clearing.  
  
Wrex managed to pull Grunt down behind a thick stand of underbrush. Zaeed slid in beside them, scope already up as he peered at the small landing site. He found Vido easily enough, arse hanging out in the air as he struggled with something under the hood of the shuttle. He laughed to himself, looking over the rest of the vehicle.  
  
“Think that shuttle’s older than you, Wrex.” He passed the rifle over so the Krogan could get a look through his scope.  
  
“What are we waiting for,” Grunt rumbled.  
  
“Easy there, princess.” The rifle was passed back. “Can’t see Kranda though.”  
  
He took a longer moment to scan the area again, then noticed movement inside the vehicle. Just a foot, but a Krogan foot for sure. “Yeah, I got her. Sitting inside. He must have her drugged up on something. Can’t imagine she’d go willingly.”  
  
“That or he’s got a bomb strapped to her. Or both maybe.”  
  
“Come on!” Grunt nearly surged forward, only held back by Wrex’ grip on his armor. “We’re not getting any younger.”  
  
“Sit down, pyjak. If it is a bomb, we need to be sure.”  
  
“Well, whatever we do, we need to do it quickly. Looks like he’s got his little engine problem solved. Too bad none of us are engineers. We could fry that goddamn engine easy.” Zaeed watched Vido lower the hood with a bang, slamming it shut. He peered around the brush on either side. Krogan weren’t known for their stealth, but if he could keep Vido distracted long enough, they might be able to swing around. They agreed to the plan, even if it was a poor one, and made their way as quietly as possible around while Zaeed stepped out onto the path. He switched over to his rifle and pulled off his helmet.   
  
“I expected more from you,” he called out. Vido froze, his back to him. “Couple explosions, couple half-assed Batarians. Now a shuttle that looks like it’s been though the First Contact War. Life on the run not agreeing with you, old friend?”  
  
Vido turned sideways, hands still on the shuttle. “Massani. Should have known you wouldn’t die like you were supposed to.”  
  
“Yeah, well. I like to keep my streak of not getting killed by you going. Good thing, too. You got everyone else. What’d you do to that lovely Krogan? Don’t tell me you seduced her, made her fall in love with you. That only happens in the fairy stories.” He took a few steps closer, moved slowly, trying to keep Vido’s eyes on him rather than wandering around looking for very poorly hidden Krogan.  
  
Movement in the bushes behind the shuttle told him the other two were in place. Branches swayed with obvious Krogan movement and it would have been really quite hilarious at any other time. But at least he knew they were in place.  
  
Vido moved his hand toward a pocket and Zaeed’s rifle was up and aiming. “Keep moving, asshole, and I’ll shoot your fucking head clean off, leave a nice meal for the local fauna.”  
  
But Vido was desperate and stupid and didn’t stop, quickly grabbing whatever was in his pocket even as Zaeed shot a quick round into Vido’s leg. There was a grunt as he went down on one knee. “Fuck you, Massani. You really think you’re smarter than me?” He pulled a detonator from his pocket and flicked the cap up. His thumb pressed down on the trigger. All he had to do was release it and they’d all be singing with the devils.  
  
“Doesn’t take much.” He nodded slightly toward the two Krogan who sprinted out, heading for the shuttle at the same time that Zaeed rushed Vido. He dropped his rifle, wanting both hands free so he could clock Vido upside the head with a fist while he grabbed onto the detonator and pressed Vido’s thumb firmly down with his own. There was a brief struggle, but Vido had never been a good wounded soldier, never had been one to work through the pain. It disgusted Zaeed how easily he had him wrestled down to the ground, an arm across his throat.  
  
“You’ll pay for this, Massani,” the man choked out in a gasp. “Don’t know where. Don’t know when. But you _will_ pay. When you least expect it.”  
  
Zaeed rolled his eyes. Vido could never forego the chance for some obvious cliche. “Like to see you try, dickhead.”  
  
He never considered Vido might take that as a personal challenge.  
  
He never thought he would have so much to lose.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just your average idyllic morning with an old retired merc and a little girl with blond curls.

**2190, Present Day**

The rifle is safely stowed away, cleaning kit gathered and put under the kitchen sink (sealed behind ridiculously finicky child safety contraptions), and tiny fingers washed of gun oil. Zaeed checks the time; just gone ten.

Ingrid looks up at him, face full of big somber eyes. She stretches her arms up and he lifts her with a loud grunt, half-acting to get her to smile as she settles on his hip.

 _'Papa me go park,'_ she signs.

He touches his forehead to hers. It’s still so new, this name she's given him. He has doubts he'll get used to it. “Park, huh.” He didn’t have much planned for the day. Lately he’d been taking Ingrid down to a garage he’d rented close by where he stored all his gear, including a set of new armor, and where he’d started working on-to Garrus’ intense dismay-a 1947 Indian Chief Roadmaster motorcycle he’d dug out of a junk shop. He found it soothing: tinkering with the engine, researching extranet sites when he lost his way (which was often), showing Ingrid what he was doing and explaining to her how a combustion engine worked. The big surprise was that he had her complete attention as she sat cross-legged next to him and handed him tools. But today Paxton gets out of school early since it’s his last day for the year, so he figured they’d be lazy this morning and putter around the apartment. But it’s a fine day outside, too nice for just sitting. “Alright. Go get your sandals.”

He sets her back down and watches as she skitters through the apartment to her room before grabbing a cigar and stowing it in his pocket. The heavy weight he had felt earlier has returned, the weight of child rearing and responsibility. Of having someone dependant on him. He has no regrets-he's never had time for that bullshit, but the feeling is still new after being so long on his own (with a few exceptions that tended to turn out poorly). He shoves the feeling aside as there, but not important. What is important is reading the material Jack sent. He’ll do that tonight, after the kids are in bed.

They walk the few blocks to the park, Ingrid swinging on his arm like a little monkey. He figures, if nothing else, it helps keep him in shape. She’s light, but not that light and he can feel himself getting soft. Another thing to do tonight after the kids are asleep: hit the treadmill.

The park is thankfully somewhat empty so it’s easier for him to keep an eye on her as she climbs through the long jungle gym. She generally likes to do a pass through, going down each of the five slides in order until she comes to the end and then she looks for him. He takes her hand so they can go find the geese and ducks, wandering to the edge of a small pond. She reaches for him to pick her up and he complies. She’s fascinated by the birds, but frightened all the same, not liking their noise and pushy demands for breadcrumbs.

 _‘Feed duck.’_ She signs her demand, points to the vending machine that disperses packets of breadcrumbs for a credit.

“Yeah, yeah. I know the drill.” He swings her up so she’s sitting on his shoulders, as far from any sharp beaks on the ground as possible. She rests her hands on his head, fingers drumming impatiently while he walks over to a bridge that spans the center of the pond. He throws the crumbs out a few at a time and she kicks his ribs with excitement. “Hey. Settle down up there.” The mess of birds-gulls and geese, ducks, and a few terns-dodge and rumble, sending out ripples in the water, squalling over the food. Ingrid hugs his head and jumps a bit with excitement when a gull swoops down and grabs a crumb mid-flight. He hangs onto her legs with both hands after throwing the last of the crumbs out onto the water, watching the brawl below.

The birds disperse slowly, lured by other people standing on the pond’s edge. She holds her hands in front of him so he can see her sign, _‘Swing.’_ As if he didn’t know. It’s the same every damned time. And they’ll be at that bloody swing until dawn the next day if she has her way. Ingrid loves the goddamn swing.

He sets her on a swing seat at the end of the long row and gives her a small push. “Knock yourself out, kiddo.” She kicks her feet, getting her momentum going while he leans against one of the support posts and lights his cigar. He learned a while ago that they’ll be here for a while; he might as well enjoy it.

The swing creaks from metal-on-metal friction as she pumps back and forth, her sundress fluttering around her legs. She leans back and rocks forward, her curls blowing in the breeze she makes. Normalcy rests around them: the sound of other kids’ chatter and shrieks, a mother calling for her child, geese squawking, a shuttle passing overhead. He watches her, lets the cigar cool before he takes another draw, making it last. It’s a fine morning and he doesn’t have anywhere else to be.

Eventually Ingrid jumps down off the swing and hops over to him. He stubs the cigar out on the post-where he’s left other burn marks in the past few months-and tosses the butt in a nearby trash can. She waits for him to finish before she takes his hand and pulls him to a bench near the pond. Ingrid snuggles up on his lap, laying back on his chest so that her mess of curls tickles at his chin. They sit and watch the herons pick at the edge of the water, their long legs delicate as they step.

 _‘Story,’_ she signs.

“Are you sure you’re not Shepard’s daughter? You’re as bad as he was, always coming around and asking for old war stories.” She looks up at him, expectation in her eyes. He sighs and tells her about the time he helped Shepard and Grunt take on a thresher maw on foot. He manages to only swear a couple times as he recounts the tale.

~~~~~

**2142**  
**Zaeed, age 6**  
**London, England**

When his mother brought his sister home from hospital, he thought for a moment that she’d fooled him and brought home a doll. He’d seen dolls before, not up close of course. But some of the kids in the neighborhood had them, and Petra Fisher and Rachel Ng seemed to make a habit of sitting on the front steps of Rachel’s grandfather’s house and lining them all up with their other stuffed plushies. But he didn’t care to get too close. He’d seen the disturbing unblinking eyes and that was enough to prevent him from investigating.

He was reluctant to come too close to Jessica for fear it would have the same unnatural stare as Rachel Ng’s dolls. But eventually, more because he’d missed his mum during the few days that she’d been gone than any sort of curiosity about what was wrapped up in the fluffy pink blanket, he edged closer to where they both were on the sofa.

When he finally climbed up beside them, leaning in along his mother’s warmth, he was surprised to see that the baby had a head full of dark hair that looked softer than anything he’d ever touched. Each individual strand seemed to have a will of its own, jutting out from all angles over the crown of her head in a wild display of shocked independence. The eyes, thankfully, were closed. But he could see the life in her face, the twitch of lips, the movement under her lids as she dreamed (what did babies dream of, he wondered), the clench of her fist. He sighed in relief, glad at least that she wasn’t a creepy doll and that he wouldn’t have to worry about where his mum would keep it.

The baby’s skin was almost translucent in its newness. He didn’t need his mother’s reminder to be gentle as he reached out to touch her, already so afraid to damage her. He just wanted to smooth his fingers over the hair, to see if it really was as soft and fluffy as he imagined.

“D’you want to hold her?”

Against his protests, he was given the package, instructed on how to keep her head up, and before he knew it, this living warmth was on his lap, cooing and shifting in her sleep. Somehow her fist had curled around his finger, gripping so strongly he wondered if she’d ever let him go. Her face scrunched briefly, as if she were trying to decide to cry, trying to work up some tears. But then her face relaxed back in sleep and his mother sighed.

“Oh, look at you two. You are so sweet. She likes you, Zaeed.” His mother pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll get some lunch, shall I?”

He nodded. Food would be good. His father had barely been there while his mother was gone, and the last he’d eaten was the day before at some point, something in a wrapper which had tasted like salted cardboard that he’d gleaned from the back of the nearly empty cupboard. His stomach rumbled at the mention of a meal.

But he was transfixed by the sight in his lap. He studied Jessica as if he had been tasked to memorize her face. He wanted to pull the blanket back, wanted to see more, but she still held his finger and his other hand supported her head. He watched and waited. With each small movement of breath in her tiny chest she drew him into her world with inevitable fate, their lives becoming locked together. He knew without being told he was her guardian. Above all else his job was now Brother. He leaned down close, feeling the baby’s soft cheek with his own, her fine hair tickling his nose. He breathed in the fresh scent of someone untouched by the foulness of the world.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and told her his secrets.

~~~~~

**Present Day**

By the time he’s finished, Ingrid has twisted herself around on his lap, readjusting so her head is on his shoulder, arms around his neck. He holds her lightly, thinking for a moment she’s fallen asleep, lulled by the warm day and the sound of his voice. But when he stops, she lifts her head and pats his cheek.

“I ever find out you’ve taken on a thresher maw on foot like that, I’ll kick your ass.”

She scrunches up her nose at him and shakes her head.

“Right. So, hungry?” She nods. “Sushi?” She nods again, more forceful this time. Sushi means walking over to the boardwalk, maybe ice cream for afters. "Off you go."

She jumps down and runs ahead, returns to twirl around him, sending her skirt whirling around her, then runs on ahead again. He follows at a steady pace, his eyes always on her, entranced by her youth and freedom and boundless energy. Any melancholy he’d felt before has been replaced with knowing he wouldn’t give back the last six months for anything. She and Paxton have become too precious; he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure they’re safe and healthy. As he would lay down his life for Garrus, he’d do the same for these kids. There’s no question in his mind.

She runs straight at him from a distance, building up speed. He stops and waits, catches her as she jumps; throws her in the air while she huffs her silent laugh; holds her in a hug.

~~~~~

The line is thankfully short for sushi and they carry their lunch to a nearby table, eating in the sunshine. He’s aware of the side glances they get. He knows they make an odd pair; she’s so fair and bright, he’s so...not. Most people, if they dare to say anything, remark on how beautiful his granddaughter is. He’s taught Ingrid and Paxton to stick their tongues out at people when they make comments like that. Which, he’s decided, is the best thing about having influential younglings around, although Garrus might disagree with him and his tutorials. But that’s what happens when you leave a crazy old merc in charge of a five- and a twelve-year old.

They still have a little time before Paxton gets out of school, so they head further up the boardwalk to search for the vendor who sells gelato from his bike cart. If he has lemon, it’ll be a stellar day.

There are a thousand and one ways he figures he’ll screw up in any attempt to raise the kids. He’s had a lot of time to not be a parent, to focus only on himself. He’s making all this up as he goes along. Even without the added complication of a non-human child in there to make the screw ups all the more likely. He’s never had to fly off the cuff so much before, even with all the reading he’s been doing lately.

Of all the things that he had anticipated could and would go wrong-food issues, cuts and bruises, toy destruction, hurt feelings-he never thought for a second that the one thing that he would most regret would be letting go of her hand. One brief moment, handing over a goddamn credit chit. That was all it took and she's gone.

Gone and he's lost, turning in circles, calling her name, looking for the bright yellow sundress and her mess of blond curls. His heart is in his throat, panic setting in while his head pounds and he searches through the crowds, knowing he will find her any second, anticipating the feeling of relief when he finally has her back, hugging her small body to him.

“Ingrid!” His voice is hoarse from calling her name, a desperate edge to it, asking people if they’d seen her, casting wider and wider circles around the bike vendor. Dread is settling in his gut, even before his omnitool pings and he knows then this is not just her wandering off and getting lost. This is him letting his guard down, getting comfortable. This is him forgetting he can’t take anything for granted; not their safety, not their happiness. Nothing.

The message pings again and his hands are shaking when he answers it, sees the Batarian holding her limp, frail body, her head rolling back. They’ve drugged her and anger seethes in his veins, “Who the hell are you? What the fuck do you want?” But the bastard-no, he realizes as he peers closer-bitch is silent, somewhere close, in a dark room with a small light that shows only what she obviously wants Zaeed to see. Ingrid, alive. Four eyes blink at him. “Don’t you fucking hurt her-”

The feed shuts down. “No! Shit-” He turns in circles, desperately trying to pinpoint where the Batarian could be hiding. There are too many places, but he heads for an alley that’s closest, drawing his pistol. He has to start somewhere.

A message pings and he sees the sender’s name, his past coming at him, rolling over him and everything he loves, destruction and madness and burning fire of revenge tearing everything down in one moment as his heart snaps into pieces.

‘Told you I’d get you. -Vido’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've set up sofa cushion fort in anticipation of whatever it is you're going to throw at me. I'll just be hiding under there for a while.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had a hard time figuring out what Paxton's plate color is. The eyes I knew, but the plates just weren't being clear. Much thanks to potionsmaster for her amazing suggestion. *hat tip*

Zaeed sends one message and makes two calls. His hands still shake as he types out their prearranged distress code to Garrus, ‘6492.’

Garrus will send back a number, what time he can be at the Citadel. He knows as soon as Garrus has received the message he’ll drop whatever it is he’s doing and begin running calculations, figuring the time.

He calls the school. Paxton is still there, still safe. And now under guard in the principal’s office with threats from Zaeed of severe and permanent bodily harm should anything unthinkable happen to the boy. Whatever poor excuse for security will have to suffice for the moment. He’s gambling that Vido will only risk taking the one child. He grabs a skycab, hating that he’s leaving Ingrid behind, but knowing that she’s probably already on an anonymous shuttle headed off-world.

On the way to the school, he calls Liara. He doesn’t even let her greet him when she answers. “You know that favor you owe me?” She nods, eyes wide. “Calling it in. You need to scramble this call.”

She nods again. “Already done. Tell me.”

He tells her what he needs and he can see her furiously typing away at her console. “Got it. I have the last contact called into your omnitool. Running a trace now.” She frowns, shaking her head. “It was several meters from you when it connected, but it’s blocked now, heavily encrypted. Let me do some digging. I can get it.” She turns and calls over her shoulder, “Feron! I need your help.”

He’s only half paying attention, her words hitting him like a lead weight. _A few meters._ She had been so close, maybe in that alley or an empty building. A van, more like. He stifles the desire to bellow out his frustration. There’s nothing constructive that comes from that. He brings up the message from Vido on his omnitool. “I’m sending you a file, see if you can get anything from it.” He forwards it to her with a click, sees a message waiting from Garrus.

“I’ll call you right back.” She looks at him, eyes locking with his. “I promise, Zaeed. We’ll get her. They can’t take her far-”

“Don’t make any goddamn promises. Just-” he pauses, takes a deep breath to rein in his anger. Liara is a friend, after all. “Please. Do what you can.”

She nods and signs off and he checks the message from Garrus. ‘0217’

He sighs in frustration, but it could be worse. Thirteen hours (a part of him snickers at his mate’s exact time) before Garrus can be back to the Citadel. He wishes he could call him, tell him what’s happened. He knows the Turian is worrying. But they’d agreed beforehand, in the event of an emergency of any sort: distress call, answer with a time, no contact after just in case someone is monitoring their omnitools. He thinks of Garrus, anxious in his pilot’s chair, knowing he’s on the way.

In the meantime, he has plenty of shit to do.

~~~~~

He stands outside the principal’s door, dreading what comes next. He casts a disparaging eye at the Alliance drop-out that qualifies for security at the school, but nods and flashes his ID. He’s waved in, sees Paxton, legs swinging, boots banging on the chair and he recalls when they had gone to pick up the children at the orphanage. Paxton had been banging his boots on the sofa then too. He’s not pleased, being held in the office and not knowing why.

The boy jumps up when he sees him come in. “Zaeed, I didn’t do anything! What-”

He points at the chair. “Sit.” The principal, an older woman with hair piled on her head in a manner that seems to defy gravity, is sitting behind her desk. “Leave.”

She’s afraid of him and he couldn’t give a fuck, edging away from him and closing the door behind her. How many schools have they gone through already and now he can pretty much guarantee that they won’t be welcomed back here anytime soon. He should really stop making threats at the teachers and staff, but it’s not his fault they’re incompetent idiots.

Paxton is still standing, so he points at the chair again. “Sit, Paxton. I-” he sits down in the chair beside him, swipes his hand over his face. “You’re not in trouble.” He pauses, measuring his words. If he hedges over any of this, he fears all the trust that has been built up between them will be torn down in one swift kick. Gray eyes that bring to mind rainy thunderstorms regard him, wide and questioning. Zaeed hates what he has to tell the boy, knowing how much it will hurt him.

“Remember when you came to live with us and I told you that Garrus and I had enemies, people that wanted to hurt us, and that’s why the security was so high where we lived?”

The boy nods, eyes casting around the room as if realizing then that someone is missing. “Where’s Ingrid?”

He groans inwardly. He had hoped for a bit more time to explain, but the boy is too sharp for his own good. “Something has happened-”

“Where’s Ingrid?” There’s a desperate edge to the boy’s voice, his subvocals flanging with distress.

He forces himself to stay calm, in control. He doesn’t want to feed into the boy’s panic. “She’s been taken-”

“Taken?”

“Just listen. Garrus is on his way. He’ll be at the Citadel late tonight. I need you to stay with Kasumi while we go get her back. We know who has her. Liara's helping us track where they’re taking her. But you need to stay here. Kasumi will protect you-”

“No.”

“Okay, then. Jack.”

“No.” Paxton shakes his head. “She’s my sister. I have to go with you.”

“You’re too young-”

“You’ve been teaching me to shoot. I can help. I have to help. You can’t protect her! You promised to protect her and you fucked it up-”

“Hey!”

“I’ll go by myself, I’ll go find her myself. You can’t stop me!” He’s out of the chair and heading to the door ready to run, ready to go up against anyone, to search the galaxy for one small girl.

One small, very important girl.

The loss of her hits him, a painful punch to the gut that drains his blood, makes him yearn for a time when he didn't care, didn't need to shore up his reserves of patience. A time when he didn't have to feel. It's a bitter longing that leaves a sour taste on his tongue, full of regret and remorse. He has the thought that these kids deserve so much more than a foul-mouthed old mercenary, that however much he might try, he will never be able to be the type of father that can carry them through their youth.

And yet.

And yet he can't imagine his life without them. Six months in and he's already so deep it's all he knows. The solitary past that calls him is more an echo than anything he remembers with clarity. He swallows down the sourness, a bitter pill of self-doubt that he rarely lets himself acknowledge. What that lonesome life would mean-giving up Garrus, giving up these children-is unthinkable. Going backward is insane. Forward is the only option.

He grabs Paxton’s hand, holds tight against the pull of the boy who wants to get away. “Just hang the fu-hang on. Paxton. This is what Garrus and I do. We’re trained for this. The man who’s kidnapped her, he’s doing it to get to me. He’ll kill you without thinking twice about it and I could never...I can’t let that happen.” Paxton has stopped struggling with Zaeed’s hold on him, is standing listening with his back to him. “Let me-let Garrus and I do this.”

“I want to go. She’s my sister,” the boy says quietly.

“I know. Believe me, if I were you, I’d want to go too. But I need to know you’re safe at least. That I don’t have to worry about you, too.”

The boy’s shoulders sag as he stills. He nods, once, and Zaeed breathes a small sigh in relief, gives his hand a small squeeze before he lets it go. “Okay. Good. Good lad.”

Before they leave the office, he calls Kasumi. “Hey, you busy?”

“I’m always busy. So many trustworthy individuals out there who need me looking after their very expensive and improperly secured things.”

“I’m sure they appreciate that. Look, something’s come up. Can you stay with Paxton?”

“Just Pax?”

“I’ll explain when you get here.”

She gives him a look, knowing it’s bad if Zaeed isn't willing to give details up front. “You’re lucky I’m on Earth. Give me a couple hours.”

He sighs. “Yeah. Good. Thanks. I’ll send you the address.” She nods and signs off. Paxton has watched the exchange, mandibles tight in worry. Zaeed stands, hand on his shoulder to guide him from the office. “C’mon. Let’s get outta here.”

He finds them a cab and enters in the address for the garage that's blocks from the apartment building. He's reluctant to go home, wary of who might be watching. He stores his armor along with most of his guns and ammo there anyway, conscious of too curious children. Clothes and whatever else he might need he can pick up at the Citadel.

“You were supposed to protect her,” Paxton says softly. He’s looking out the window, watching the buildings go by. “You promised to protect her.”

“I know.”

“You failed.”

“I know.” _Believe me, I goddamn fucking know._

Paxton is quiet for a moment, then looks over at Zaeed. “If you don’t get her back-”

“I will. We will.” _Don’t make promises you can’t keep._ But this is one promise he will bend time and space to fulfill, even if it kills him.

The boy nods once, but the look of doubt does not ease from his features.

~~~~~

**2146, Zaeed age 9 & 10**  
**London, England**

  
The best day of his life up to that point was when his father was sent to prison. He was nine and Jessie was three and for the first time in his young life he felt like he could breathe properly. He didn’t ask why and he didn’t even want to know, but eventually he sussed out-from his mother’s conversations with a neighbor-that his old man had stolen something and he’d be gone for years, with the possibility of time off for good behavior. _Good behavior._ He doubted his father knew the meaning of the words.

He turned ten soon after, allowed to have two friends over for a small cake and not much else. But it didn’t matter because his father wasn’t there to insult him in front of the boys (Jack Bell and Carl Vaughn, who had pooled their meager money together in an unusual show of solidarity and had given him a pair of not-so-gently used night vision goggles). Not that they wouldn’t have understood. Their own fathers were less than ideal. Still, it cut a boy to the quick to be demeaned like that in front of his friends.

His mother did her best to make things in their tiny flat look cheery, but a few rolls of crepe paper and a couple balloons were not enough to disguise the poverty that nearly seeped from the cracks in the walls. Not that he cared.

There was cake and a few presents and that was more than he'd ever had before.

Jessie had shoved nearly her entire slice of cake into her mouth, cheeks puffed out like a squirrel’s, eyes wide as she attempted to eat and swallow and not lose a crumb. He understood her greed. It was a rare day they’d been able to eat anything so richly sweet. Icing coated her fingers, her face, some even a shock of white in her fine brown hair. When she was finished, swallowing the last of it down in a gulp, he looked at his own plate, cake half gone with a corner of a ‘Z’ in blue resting lightly on top. There were no other pieces, truly the cake was only big enough for the five of them. And his mother had taken just a sliver. He used his fork to remove that small corner of blue and pushed the remaining cake over to her plate.

She grinned at him and shoved that in her mouth as well.

~~~~~

**Present Day**

Liara is good on her word to call back quickly. “Omega. The trail leads to Omega, but it’s pinging off somewhere beyond that. I’m still trying to trace it. And I'm not getting anything useful from the message Vido sent you. Whoever did the encryption knew what they were doing.”

“Okay, thanks. Keep at it. We’ll head there to start.” He signs off and lets his head fall back on the seat. Fucking Omega. Goddamn fucking Omega. He looks over at Paxton, calculating.

The boy looks back, curious. The sun coming in from the window nearly makes his gray-green plates shimmer with iridescent silver. Paxton will break hearts one day on that fact alone. “What?”

He sees himself at that age in so many ways; the reckless bravado, the impulsiveness. The primal need to protect his loved ones. His ultimate failure to do so is a painful burn on his psyche that he has never, will never forgive himself for. He blames himself, but also the adults that should have done something; his father who was that in name only, his mother who was stuck in circumstances he didn’t understand. He can’t correct their failures, but he can certainly learn from his own.

“You need armor,” he says. He’s not so proud that he won’t change his mind. “Citadel’s as good a place as any to get some.”

The boy sits up. “I can help?”

"If I had been you and some old fart had tried to keep me from getting my sister back, I would have gutted him with a rusty knife. I admire your restraint. But listen up. You’ll do as Garrus or I say. No backtalk. From here on until we get Ingrid back, we’re your commanding officers. Got it?”

He nods enthusiastically. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

The boy smiles, mandibles wide. “Yes, sir.”

Zaeed snorts. That’s just...so wrong on multiple levels. But it’ll do. He rests his hand on the boy’s head. He looks a bit closer at him, turns Paxton’s head from side to side, eyes narrowing. “Your fringe starting to grow out?”

The boy grins.

Zaeed makes one more call. "Massani? What can I do for you?"

"Shepard. Vido kidnapped Ingrid. Need clearance to take Paxton off-world."

His former commander's eyes widen in surprise. "Zaeed-I...what? Vido's in prison on Tuchanka."

"Not any more apparently. Goddamned Batarian nabbed our girl right out from under me. Had a message minutes later signed from Vido."

"Any chance it's someone else? Someone acting on his behalf?"

"Anything's possible right now. But the message referenced a conversation he and I had had a couple years ago when we nabbed him on Sanctum. Liara traced a signal to Omega. We'll find out from there I guess."

Shepard moves over, typing on his computer. "I'm messaging Wrex to find out what he knows. And I'll get you clearance to remove Paxton from Earth." He stops for a moment, gives Zaeed the Commander Look. "You sure it’s a good idea to take him along?"

He shakes his head. "I think it's a terrible idea. But if I were him-"

He doesn't need to finish. Shepard nods in understanding. "Keep me updated. Through Liara is fine." He pauses again, somewhat sheepish. "Let me know what else I can do to help. I'd go with you, but-"

"Kaidan would pull my balls off through my throat if you even took one goddamn gimpy step. We'll manage. And Shepard? Thanks."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thankfully, there's a Spectre with a ship in the family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Citadel headcanon: Still in orbit around Earth, since it’s a big ass thing to move and there are other things to worry about other than how to move a big ass space station through the relays. In this story, the Citadel has been repaired enough to have reopened about nine months previously, but obviously work is ongoing. Keepers are alive and well.
> 
> Also, many thanks to potionsmaster for her beta-ing. You ease my mind, girl.

First things first: his new armor. Paxton helps him lift the lid on the crate containing his and Garrus' assorted collection of armors. His new black one rests on top, the matte finish absorbing the light. Underneath he can see his old yellow armor, not forgotten or unwanted, just outdated and beat to shit. It had seen him through many years and missions, too many according to Garrus. His mate had insisted on using his Spectre status to get the highly expensive armor at discount, and how could he say no to that? In addition to which, according to Garrus, the yellow armor made his ‘ass look big, like painting a target on your backside.’ He smirks with the memory, eyes rolling a little. Gods forbid his ass should look big.

He starts pulling the black armor out, handing pieces to Paxton. "What's that?" The boy looks down in the crate, his arms loaded with greaves and boots.

"My old armor."

"It’s yellow."

"Yeah. What of it?"

The boys shrugs, a human gesture he's picked up lately. "Aren't you a sniper? Yellow seems like it would kinda make you a target."

He pauses, half bent into the crate. “Did Garrus tell you to say that?” Paxton gives him a look, all innocence and subterfuge. Zaeed rolls his eyes and points to a nearby workbench. “Over there, you little smart a- twerp.”

He grabs his undersuit and the rest of the armor, ready to shut the lid. But Paxton holds it open, his eye drawn to the banged up Turian armor. The chest plate had never been repaired, Garrus always too busy to worry about it. The most he had done was file down the sharp edges, buffing out the paint and scorch marks. Only after he’d returned to Palaven and been given a promotion had he bothered to get anything new. Garrus had worn that armor with pride, just as he wears his scars. A statement to any and all that said survivor. And badass.

Zaeed can see the wheels turning in the kid’s brain, adding up all the components. “Garrus wore that when he got the damage to his face?”

“Yeah.” Zaeed deposits the rest of the armor on the workbench and returns to pull the chest piece out, handing it to Paxton.

Paxton thoughtfully pokes his finger through one of the holes, scraping his fingertip over the rough edges. “What happened?”

He pauses a moment, thoughtful himself. It’s always been such a clear memory: Garrus sniping at Shepard, Miranda, and himself as they crossed over the bridge, so obviously missing on purpose; Garrus pulling off his helmet, dramatic and daring and so gloriously full of himself; the four of them fending off wave after wave of mercs and paid-for-hires; Zaeed’s admiration for the Turian as a sniper, his interest piqued in the person; and Garrus’ fall, his blood on the floor, his gasp for breath and his clutching grasp on his rifle.

He remembers as well Chakwas had managed to keep the Turian pinned down in medbay for all of thirteen hours before he had slipped through her fingers, brushing off concerns of infection and new bone weaves as he had stumbled into the mess. He had cast a slightly frantic eye around the room before his bright blue eyes had fastened on Zaeed, recognizing a familiar face in amidst all the Cerberus drones. Zaeed's fork had stopped midway to his mouth, his brain trapped in the downdraft of Garrus' attention. His heart had hammered in his chest at the piercing gaze and he knows now that while he would never have admitted it at the time, caught up in his thirst for revenge and a well-forged tendency to shy away from attachments, that he had fallen in that moment. Pulled into the gravity well of someone whose will to live had matched his own, who burned for his own brand of justice, and who joked about scars and the new layout of the SR-2 while he tripped to the elevator.

Some things over time may become hazy, forgotten even. But that day will forever be burned into his brain cells.

“Tried to stop a rocket with his face. Nearly managed it as well.”

Paxton hands him back the piece and he carefully returns it to the crate, locking it up tight. When he turns, the boy is studying him thoughtfully. “What?”

“I just-What happened to your face?”

He feels the old bloodlust, a resurgence of bitter anger he thought he had put behind him. It’s there in a moment, an old friend that squeezes at his heart, churns at the dark edges of his consciousness. Goddamnmotherfucking Vido. Without his even knowing, his hands are clenched in fists. He takes a deep breath. He sits down on a nearby stool at the workbench, nods Paxton over to sit with him. “Twenty-five years ago, my business partner tried to kill me. And now he’s kidnapped Ingrid.”

Paxton’s head jerks up. “Why?”

“Because a couple years ago I helped make sure he got locked up in prison.” He pulls a cigar out of his pocket, rolling it between his fingers. “Spent a long time, a lot of energy tracking him down to have it all come to naught. Turns out revenge is a fu-a nasty business. Sometimes innocent people get caught in the crossfire. It fuels you, narrows your focus down to just you and your target. So much so that it can blind you to other people’s suffering. Only takes one person to make revenge into a life’s passion and then the next thing you know, you’re stuck in a vicious cycle that no one can escape."

"So how do you stop the cycle?"

"I thought I had. But that was only on my end. Can't control what another person does. Sometimes it's on you to be the bigger man and end it." _Even if that is at gunpoint._

~~~~~

They arrive at the Citadel with time to spare. Kasumi, as Zaeed had suspected and hoped she might upon finding out that he had no need of her excellent babysitting skills, had insisted that she would be going along. He has time to buy supplies and get Paxton suited up in armor, and Kasumi insists that he buy a cloaking device for the boy as well. He groans with the thought of it, but admits it’s a good idea. He also gets a new omnitool and hands it over to Paxton. He’ll need it for the cloak, and it’s probably about time for him to have something that’s higher tech and not just dedicated to school work and playing old black and white movies.

He helps a blurry-eyed Paxton kit up. It’s way past the kid’s bed time-and where is Ingrid sleeping, he wonders, but locks the thought down before it carries him away. He snaps the seals in place, taking a breath with the familiarity of the ritual. His own armor is still so new it chafes in spots. He misses the old armor. Goddamnit.

He gets a message from Garrus that he’s docking and grabs their few bags. “Kasumi, I need you to scrub all our omnitools once we’re on board.”

“Done.”

“Then set up a real-time link with Liara-”

“Already done.”

He looks at her, studying her self-satisfied smile. His admiration for her technical abilities has nothing on his esteem for her as a friend. “Why am I not surprised.”

“Because I’m the best and you know it.”

“True on both counts.” He pauses for a moment, tugs on her arm to make sure he has her attention. “Hey. Not too late to back out. You don’t have to do this, you know.”

She stops and looks him over, then down at Paxton-not nearly as much down as she had when she had first met him since the boy keeps growing like a weed-and gives them both her sideways smile. “No, I don’t have to, but I want to be here. You’re my family. Where else would I be?”

Her comment, so offhand and matter of fact, nearly knocks him back on his ass. He blinks, swallowing down hard on the lump that wants to form in his throat. He nods, his grip on her elbow tightening for a moment in acknowledgement. “Yeah. You-thanks.”

She smirks at him and disappears in a heat-wave shimmer. “One of these days, Zaeed,” her disembodied voice comes from somewhere behind him, “you’re going to give in and show some emotion.”

He sighs, thinking over the events of Father’s Day. “You obviously haven’t been to our goddamn house lately, Kasumi.”

They make it to Dock 2 where Spectres have special clearance. Garrus is waiting for them at the gate. He looks worried, eyes counting bodies and noticing one very missing person. “Ingrid?”

Zaeed nods, “Vido. You get any messages from Shepard or the Council about him?”

“Shit.” His mate’s eyes widen and he opens his omnitool, scrolling through messages. “Wrex just sent out an update to the Council. Vido Santiago is listed as missing, presumed dead. There was an uprising at the prison, rioting, four days ago.” He scans over the text. “A hundred and twenty-three prisoners listed as killed either by the guards or debris from an explosion in the venting system. Vido’s body not found…” he looks up at Zaeed. “This smells like-”

“Bullshit?”

“Yeah. C’mon. Tell me everything. I’m still refueling. Where are we headed?”

“Omega to start.”

Garrus groans, keys in the security code for the hatch. “How lovely.” He shoos them all into decon while giving Zaeed a look, then glances down at Paxton, whose eyes are wide as he watches the decon light move over him.

Zaeed just shrugs. “Couldn’t find a babysitter,” he mutters under his breath.

“Interesting. Especially considering our most favored babysitter and honorary aunt is standing right behind you.”

Kasumi reappears, leaning on the bulkhead. “Never should have upgraded your visor, Garrus,” she grumbles.

“Oh no, you definitely should have.” He steps in close to Zaeed, not quite touching, but his breath fans over his ear when he whispers, “You’re letting your softiness show.”

He smirks. “Softiness? Stop making goddamn words up.” The door opens and he steps out into the hall, glancing back when he notices Garrus hasn’t moved.

His mate is looking him over, appraising him in the matt black armor. An eyebrow plate quirks ever so slightly. “Nice ass, Zee.”

“Shut up.”

Garrus’ ship, a Council-issued Scout class named The Comet, is small enough for one person to manage, but still has quarters for a few crew members should he have need of them. It’s not Zaeed’s first time on his ship. He’s noticed that Garrus has never tried to repair the damage his boot made to the wall in his quarters which had happened early on in their relationship when they’d discovered a little trick with one of his pelvic plates. Occasionally Garrus will take him on ride-alongs if his mission promises to be fairly boring and relatively short-an occurrence that has happened less and less since the kids have landed on their doorstep. And something Zaeed has missed really.

He helps Paxton get to the empty staff quarters where he and Kasumi can share a room, then drops his own gear on the floor of Garrus’ quarters-he gives the dent in the wall a fond rub-and heads to the cockpit with the intention of sliding into the copilot’s seat. Kasumi has beat him to it. Not surprisingly when he considers that she actually knows how to fly a ship like this.

He hears Liara’s voice over the comm. “I’m still working on the encryption on the trace from Omega. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he wants you to follow the breadcrumbs. Smells like a trap if you ask me.”

Nice to have a confirmation of what he had already suspected. “Anywhere specific on Omega yet?” Garrus asks.

“Indeed. The abandoned mining tunnels that run underneath,” she mutters a curse. Zaeed’s never been down there, but he knows from Liara telling him that that was where she’d been when she’d seen the Blue Suns hand over Shepard’s body to the Collectors. It makes sense that Vido is using places and equipment he’s familiar with right now. Odds are his options are limited and he has to go with what he knows or has access to. “I’ll download the schematics to you, with coordinates. You can fly right into the bay, Garrus. Your ship is small enough to get in there.”

“Roger that, Liara. We’re cleared for take-off.” Zaeed’s heart races as he feels the vibration of the engines starting up in the soles of his feet. However much he’d grown used to taking care of the kids, he’s still missed this. The hum of the engines whispering to him of places unknown, enticing him to go further, see more, keep going until he’s devoured the galaxy. Paxton enters the cockpit and he beckons him closer, a hand on the boy’s armored shoulder. He closes his eyes with the movement of the ship slipping away from the dock, his body singing with the joy of it. Goddamn. Feels like home.

He opens his eyes to see Garrus looking at him over his shoulder, smiling a little, but looking more than a little worried. He feels his face crumple, thinking about Ingrid. He doesn’t want to think about her right now; how alone she is, knowing how scared she is. All his fault. He hates to think what he’d do if they didn’t-

He cuts the thought off before he can finish it. _We will find her. We will get her back. She will be okay. We’ll all be okay._ He realizes he’s squeezing hard on Paxton’s shoulder. Not that it matters with the armor, but his hand is cramping with the force of it. He gives the boy a gentle nudge. “Go stand up there and make sure Garrus is doing it right.”

Paxton hesitates and looks up at him. He just pushes him a little harder. “Go on.”

Slow steps take him up to stand at Garrus’ shoulder. His mate looks up and gives the boy a smile. “You want to help?” he asks quietly.

Paxton nods and Zaeed’s heart tugs as he watches Garrus’ arm bring the boy up between the console and his chair, guiding him to sit on his knee. “Right, so when I tell you, you push this button here, got it? It’s very important.” Zaeed smirks, seeing Paxton’s finger hover over the ‘Eject Waste’ button, his face serious as he nods. They’re clear of the Citadel and heading for the relay.

“Thirty-five minutes to relay,” Garrus says. He nods to Paxton. “Okay, hit that button.”

Paxton does and grins at him.

Garrus grins back, then gets up, maneuvering so that Paxton stays seated. “You’re going to sit here and make sure we don’t hit a planet or anything. Kasumi, tell me when we’re ten minutes out.” He points at Zaeed, “You, I want to talk to.”

Garrus follows him past the CIC and through the lounge to his quarters. He palms the door shut and Zaeed feels the tension in his back and neck release in one strong punch as he hits the bulkhead with his gloved fist. The force of the strike jars his knuckles and all the way up his arm. But it feels pretty fucking good so he hits the goddamn metal wall again with his other fist, pleased to see a small dent form. He throws punches in a trance until he gradually becomes aware of his mate at his back, boxing him in with his hands resting on either side of him on the bulkhead. He pauses, aware that he’s been swearing a string of curses that are probably ringing throughout the ship. His mouth is dry and his head aches. His hands ache even more. His shoulders slump when he sighs heavily and he leans back, Turian arms wrapping around him.

“You done trying to kill my ship?”

“Dunno. Might have another go in a minute.”

“This is not your fault,” Garrus says in his ear.

“This _is_ my _fucking fault_ ,” he growls. He struggles for a moment, trying to push off the arms around him, but Garrus has that Turian strength, all sinew and power and he doesn't let go. He relents finally, but his hands still grip his mate's arms tightly. “Let myself get complacent. Should have been keeping a better eye on Vido, whatever's left of the fucking Blue Suns. Should have expected something.” She was there and then she wasn’t. Golden curls shifting in the breeze, stuffing her cheeks with rice and giving him one of her rare, bright smiles. Then just...gone. A wisp of smoke on the air, disappearing before he could even reach out to grab hold. “Garrus-” he chokes on the bile that threatens to conquer him, his voice a whisper in the room. “I-she-she was there. She was there and I let go of her hand. For one goddamned second-”

The arms tighten around him and his Turian hums in his ear. “We’ll get her back.”

“They had her drugged. When they vidcommed. She was fucking drugged already.” He closes his eyes, allows himself to lean fully back into the support of his mate. “Can you imagine how goddamn frightened she is? I can’t even think-”

“We’ll get her back,” he says again. But his voice has taken on a hard edge. “And Vido will pay for what he’s done. We’ll make sure he can’t hurt anyone else anymore.” The threat is unmistakable, even if he hadn’t been able to hear the flanging undertones in his subharmonics. Vido’s days are numbered.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How to not have a heart attack during a dangerous mission: don't bring the bloody kid along for starters.

They gather at the hatch, geared and armored. Kasumi has been using their travel time to coordinate with Liara as well as show Paxton the basics on his stealth cloak. Watching her teach the boy, more patient than he'd ever seen her, Zaeed has come to a whole new appreciation of their friend and her abilities.  
  
Garrus hands over a small pistol to Paxton. “You remember this one?” He nods, takes it carefully. Zaeed shows him how it attaches to the maglock on his armor with instructions to only use it if he absolutely has to, to stay cloaked, to keep under cover.  
  
“Your job is to watch our backs. You see anything, anyone, you give a shout. Right? Don’t engage. Don’t shoot at them unless there’s no other option.” The boy nods, ernest and wide-eyed. “Alright, helmet on. Then hit your stealth.”  
  
Kasumi pulls on her oxygen mask then disappears in a shimmering wave as she checks something on her omnitool. “No life signs in the bay. Oxygen levels non-existent. The comm signal boost is thirty-three meters on our ten. I’ll swing around to the right. There’s an entrance that leads into the tunnels I want to check first.”  
  
Garrus palms the hatch lock and they all step out onto the metal gangway. Zaeed looks around, finds a good spot for Paxton to sit and watch. “Paxton, see those crates up there on our nine? On that catwalk?”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
“Quietly and _slowly_ , you get up there. Don’t move unless we tell you or unless the place starts falling down around us, got it?”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
“Good lad,” he looks over at Garrus. It’s hard to see behind the Turian’s facemask, but he knows he’s being given The Look. He just shrugs and nods towards the comm buoy. “Just you and me, sweetheart. Out for a goddamn sunny afternoon stroll.”  
  
He hears a ping as Garrus opens up a private comm channel between them. “You have fatherly tricks up your sleeve you’re not telling me about.”  
  
He smirks and slowly makes his way towards the small interface, rifle at the ready. “Told him we’re his commanders for the duration. Suddenly the boy’s all ‘yes, sir’ this and ‘no, sir’ that. Like flipping a fucking switch. Believe me, it’ll change the minute this is over. Back to his normal mouthy self. Tell the truth, it’s more than a little goddamn disturbing.” The two of them find cover behind old rusted out mining equipment of questionable use. He peers around his side, scans the area for movement of any sort.  
  
Garrus laughs softly, then switches back over to the group comm. “Anything, Kasumi?”  
  
“Tunnel is clear. Seems to be a cave-in twenty meters or so in. No electrical signals except for the buoy and your ship.”  
  
“Can you tell what’s feeding it power?”  
  
“Looks local. Battery pack maybe. There’s no other power of any sort coming in here from outside.”  
  
Zaeed has a look up where he can a faint shimmer where Paxton is perched. Kasumi was nice enough to mod his HUD like she had done to Garrus’ visor so he can pick out their two hazy cloaked figures. “Paxton, you have anything?”  
  
“All clear, sir.”  
  
He resists the urge to snort, but Garrus doesn’t. He smacks his arm and the Turian smacks him back on the chest. “Keep sweeping the area. Don’t forget to check your own six.”  
  
“Okay. Oh, uh, sir.”  
  
“Kasumi, how we doing,” Garrus says.  
  
“Approaching the buoy. Still clear.”  
  
Garrus nods him forward as he picks a place to perch. He points to where he’s headed and Zaeed nods back. He feels the razor’s edge of nerves, watching and listening for something, anything. But there’s nothing until Garrus gives the okay.  
  
He moves quietly out from behind cover, suddenly appreciative of the new armor that lets him move more silently and smoothly. It’s lighter weight, with better shields and the matt finish seems to absorb what weak light there is in the loading bay. The HUD display allows him-among other things-to see his teammates’ vitals, read hot or cold signatures, and has better night vision than his old helmet. He concedes that perhaps it’s better than the old yellow armor.  
  
He shifts, feeling the edge where the thigh plate connects with the back plate. Still fucking chafes in spots though.  
  
Kasumi’s cloak shimmers as he comes up to the communications interface. “Paxton, check in.”  
  
“All clear,” the boys voice is tight with nerves. Can’t say as he blames him, this place stinks of trap. He’s never been a fan of springing traps, especially if he might be the intended target. Staying alive this long in his chosen profession, one tends to avoid said traps, have a long history of seeing them and avoiding them at all costs. But there are times like this when it becomes unavoidable.  
  
Kasumi appears before him, already working at her omnitool. “Garrus, I had a brief heat signature at the loading bay entrance. It’s gone now. Might be nothing. Might be something.” She begins tapping away at the comm interface, knowing time is precious, knowing Zaeed and Garrus are there to make sure she can do what she needs to do. “Uploading to Liara now.”  
  
His HUD registers nothing around the ship or behind it, but that doesn’t mean anything as far as he’s concerned. “How long you need?”  
  
“Couple minutes. Liara’s trying to get a lock on any sort of source. That ping we had earlier has disappeared. It looks like the signal ends here.”  
  
A groan of frustration threatens to rumble up from his gut at the possibility of this being a dead end. This is taking too long already, but there’s nothing he can do to make it go any faster. He’s just the hired muscle here to guard the hacker. The random heat signature doesn’t appear again, so maybe it was just that: random. But in the back of his head, he knows there’s no such thing. He keeps his eyes peeled, his nerves strung out like tight rubber bands.  
  
“Paxton. Check in.” No answer and seconds tick by in a heavy quiet. “Pax?” He remembers to check his HUD. Paxton’s vitals are elevated beyond what they had been a minute ago. His heart thuds. “Paxton Sperstes, answer now! Garrus?”  
  
“Shit-” Garrus swears under his breath. “Zee-”  
  
There’s a scuffle of boots sliding over metal, and then the boy’s shout in the comm that snaps those tight as fuck rubber bands. “Goddamnfucking-” he mutters under his breath. He yells, “Pax!” at the same time Garrus yells, “Paxton!” Another cloaked heat signature registers just behind the boy, holding him in a grapple and from the looks of it attempting to drag him backward. And having a hard time of it.  
  
_No. Not this one too_. His throat is sandpaper dry as he breaks away from Kasumi with a curse. “Hands off my son, you fucking-”  
  
Paxton materializes on the gangway, held in place now by a Batarian who shimmers out from under her cloak. There’s a pistol pointed at the boy’s neck right at the weak spot of his armor. The sight makes his blood run cold, instantaneously regretting the decision to bring him along. _Stupid stupid-_  
  
“I would stop if I were you, Massani.” The Batarian smiles at him from behind her mask. “Nice of you to bring the other one along. I was just minutes behind you in getting to the school.” She moves slightly, using Paxton as cover from the shot Garrus could take from his position. “We were kind of hoping you would bring him. So he can watch you die too.”  
  
He knows things that are useful to the situation. He knows Garrus’ scope is trained on the Batarian, that he won’t hesitate at the first opportunity to take this fucker out. He knows he needs to get her to forget for a moment that Garrus is up there. He knows he gets to be the distraction, the bait. And he knows if either one of them fail that all of this will end in disaster and Ingrid will never see any of them again.  
  
“Vido always was one for being overly dramatic,” Zaeed says. He lowers his weapon slightly, all outward appearances of looking like he’s relenting to an unspoken demand without actually doing so. “Hasn’t he figured out yet that he’ll never kill me? He’s just not that goddamn smart. Might be good with the numbers, not so good with the logistics.” He takes a step, and then another to the side, circling slightly. The pistol tightens on Paxton’s neck so he stops.  
  
“This isn’t right,” he hears Kasumi whisper behind him. He doesn’t look away from the Batarian and Paxton, but his attention is all on Kasumi. Her gasp sends a sting of electricity down his spine. “Bomb. It’s a bomb!”  
  
“Motherfucking-” His feet move on their own, bull-rushing towards the Batarian before his brain can even think the idea through. His only thought is Paxton, and behind that idea, Ingrid. It’s a desperate, angry feeling. Angry at assholes like Vido, desperate for more life for himself and Garrus, for the kids. Vido doesn’t get to take any of that away. “Pax, get down. Now!”  
  
“Thirty seconds!” Kasumi is already on her way to the ship, running and tapping away at her omintool simultaneously. He knows Garrus hasn’t moved, won’t move until that Batarian has released her hold on their child.  
  
His feet hit the metal steps leading up to the catwalk, feeling like he’s moving through sludge. He sees the boy struggle, then he stomps on the Batarian’s foot and goes limp, trying to slip through the her arms. It’s enough to change the angle for Garrus. There’s a spray of blood and gray matter just as he reaches for Paxton’s arm, using a handrail to bring himself to a quick halt and reverse directions, pulling the boy after him. “Move! Garrus!”  
  
“Right behind you.”  
  
“Twenty seconds!”  
  
Not enough time. There’s never enough goddamn time. Decon takes twenty seconds at least. Hopefully Vido hasn’t put enough explosives there to bring the whole bay down on their heads, hopefully the single barrier of the hatch door is enough to protect them all. His heart thumps madly in his throat as he firms his grip on Paxton, pushing him ahead onto the ramp, the sound of Garrus’ running steps as he quickly catches up to them.  
  
“Shitshitshitshitshit-”  
  
“Five seconds!” Kasumi’s hand is on the hatch lock, ready to hit it when they all clear the door.  
  
Momentum propels him into the inside bulkhead, trying to keep Paxton upright until Garrus’ body slams into him from behind in a gesture he recognizes as trying to protect his body with his own. He hears the door slide shut, gasping in gulps of air. Everyone tenses, waiting for the blast.  
  
Waiting a bit longer for the blast.  
  
That never comes.  
  
“What the hell?” Kasumi grumbles after several more seconds pass with no explosion, consulting her omnitool again. “Should have gone off-”  
  
“Uh, Zaeed?” Liara’s disembodied voice echoes through the small room.  
  
He casts a curious look behind him at Garrus, who hasn’t moved. “Yeah?”  
  
“There’s an incoming message for you from Vido. It appears to be prerecorded. Voice only.”  
  
His grip tightens on Paxton, but he relaxes slightly. Garrus moves back a little to give him room, his body still in a protective stance behind him. “Put it through.”  
  
Vido’s voice fills the space. “Dear Zaeed. Boom. Love, Vido.”  
  
He waits, expecting more. But that seems to be all the message contains. “Uh…”  
  
“That’s it.” Liara says. “The message was apparently triggered by the tampering, set to be delivered when the timer counted down. Very strange.”  
  
“So, no bomb?” Garrus asks.  
  
“No. There is indeed a bomb there, but it’s not...hm. It’s quite old. I don’t think he expected it would go off.”  
  
Zaeed sighs and turns, his helmet bangs lightly against the bulkhead when he tips his head back. “He’s fucking with us.”  
  
“It appears so,” Liara says. “I’ve been looking into his financials, any contacts he may have left. There’s not much there. I’ll compile all the data and download it to Kasumi.”  
  
“Thank you, Liara.”  
  
“Also, you seem to have triggered a new data stream. It’s leading to what looks like another comm buoy. Tracking it now.”  
  
Zaeed raises his eyebrows. “It wasn’t there before?”  
  
“No. It started the moment Vido’s message alert arrived.”  
  
“So, think it’s safe to go back out?” Kasumi says. “We should look over those bombs. And I’m curious about how that Batarian got around our heat registers.”  
  
Garrus nods. “Good idea. Kasumi, you go grab all the gear off the Batarian. Zaeed and I will scan the bombs. Paxton,” Garrus gets down on a knee so he can look him over, “you alright?”  
  
Pax draws a shaky breath and nods. There’s a spray of blood on his armor. “Yeah. I think so. She didn’t hurt me or anything.”  
  
Zaeed grins. “Shorts still dry?”  
  
Garrus chuckles.  
  
Paxton grins. “Yeah.” He looks up at Garrus, hero worship directed at the older Turian. “That was awesome!”  
  
“Oh for-,” Zaeed sighs as Garrus stands. “Now you’ve done it.”  
  
“Done what?” The outside hatch reopens and Garrus steps back out into the loading bay.  
  
“Two snipers in this family aren’t enough? You want to encourage a third?”  
  
He’s given a broad smile behind the helmet “Someone has to carry on the tradition. And weren't you the one who said something about teaching Ingrid? Might as well make it a family affair. Pax, you go with Kasumi.”  
  
Zaeed takes a hard look at the bombs. There are two and they look familiar in a way that tickles something in his memories. He files it away to think about later while Garrus scans them with his omnitool.  
  
Within a few minutes, they’ve all returned to the ship. Paxton carries the what looks like a backpack, Kasumi has an omnitool plus a gore-covered visor and mask.  
  
While they wait for the decon sweep, Paxton chatters at Kasumi, describing the events to her in a way he recognizes. Adrenaline is surging through the boy’s body and his brain is trying to process it all. She just smiles and removes his helmet, rubs his head with gentle affection. Even though she was there and saw it all, even though she has things she obviously wants to do, she takes a moment to stop and gather the boy up into a hug. “I’m glad you’re okay,” she says. She kisses the top of his crest, looks at him carefully. Her eyebrows draw together as she studies him. “Is your fringe getting longer?”  
  
Yeah, they’ve got good friends.  
  
~~~~~  
  
**2148, Zaeed age 11**  
**London, England**  
  
One year, eight months. One year, eight months (two weeks and three days) of freedom. Of breathing easier. Mother, sister, him. His father deliberately forgotten, memories of his abuse shoved into the back of the closet under layers of ragged clothes. No need to tiptoe. No need to go hungry. No need to think this might not be normal.  
  
One year, eleven months. One year, eleven months (and four days) and his mother was dead. His father stood over her broken body. Zaeed and Jessie lay strewn across the room like tossed dolls, detritus for his tornadic fury. Zaeed had rushed at him, intent to somehow drive him back, away from his mother (then still alive, still hurling insults as if she were egging him on, daring him to commit that final, brutal act), had been smacked back with hardly as much effort as a fly is shooed away. The noise in the room had reached its crescendo; Jessie wailing, his mother shouting, his father roaring. And then.  
  
Silence.  
  
His father panting.  
  
Jessie whimpering.  
  
Zaeed’s heartbeat thumping in his ears.  
  
He realized he would never have normal. Those images he saw of families being normal, doing normal things were never meant for him. He’d be lucky if he made it out of that wretched flat in one piece.  
  
He crawled backward, his wary eyes on his father who still looked down at the body on the floor, fists still clenched and jaw clamped tight. He caught Jessie’s eye, waved her over with a finger to his lips. _Be quiet._ She did, but not fully, still sniffling like she needed to blow her nose. He made his way slowly down the hall towards the room he shared with his sister, daring to get up at one point, waving at Jessie to hurry.  
  
A mistake. It drew his father’s attention. “Where the _fuck_ d’ya think you’re going?”  
  
He ran to the room, pushed the door shut after Jessie rushed in. Jessie, who was already drawing the chair over so he could jam it up underneath the door handle. Jessie, who watched him pull his backpack out from under the bed and while his father pounded at the door, stuffed it with what few clothes he had. Jessie, who pulled out her own pack and did the same, body jerking in feared reaction each time his father’s shoulder hit the door.  
  
He pocketed the meager bit of money he'd been saving for Jessie’s birthday present. He didn’t know where to go. He only knew they had to get away.  
  
He threw their packs out the window onto the fire escape and tugged Jessie after him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some downtime on _The Comet_.

There’s a bottle of whiskey that Zaeed keeps on Garrus’ ship, tucked away in a locker where he stores a few other things as well (a change of clothes, a few ration bars, extra condoms and lube-practical things). It’s all he can think about as he tucks Paxton in for the night, fresh from a shower, still chattering in excitement about the events in the loading bay. In the back of his mind, he knows he won’t even bother looking for a glass. He’ll just take a slug or two right from the goddamn bottle. Maybe three. The added stress of worrying over Paxton makes him doubt it was a good idea to bring him along. But it’s too late to do anything about that now. They’re on their way to Skepsis in Sigurd’s Cradle, deeper into the Terminus where Liara has traced the signal to an agricultural outpost on Watson.  
  
It’s a wild goose chase, Vido hooking his filthy fingers into their noses and leading them wherever he wants. But it’s all they have for the moment, so until Liara or Kasumi can pinpoint something more exact, this is what they’ll do.  
  
Again and again he pushes aside his concerns over Ingrid. Whether they’ve fed her, whether she’s woken up in a drugged haze, alone and afraid. Madness lies behind that worry when there’s nothing for it but more worry. He needs a plan in place. Action is what makes him breathe, where he’s most comfortable. All this mulling around inside his head will accomplish is a mangling of his gut until he’s nothing but goddamn worthless.  
  
He makes promises to Paxton. Yes, he can learn to shoot a sniper rifle. Yes, they’ll both teach him. No, it won’t be tomorrow. Yes, after they have Ingrid back, after they’re home. No, he can’t get a visor like Garrus’. No, he can’t ‘just hold’ Garrus’ Black Widow.  
  
Go to sleep, annoying child.  
  
He’s at the door, is so close to escaping. The lights are off, small boy tucked under the covers. But the small boy’s voice pipes up, so very nearly asleep. “You called me your son.”  
  
He pauses, thinking back. “Did I?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
He turns slightly, sees the boy’s gray eyes as they blink at him in the dim light from the hallway. He doesn’t remember. And that’s a lie. He remembers it all. Wanting to tear down any obstacle between him and Paxton. Knowing that if Garrus didn’t take her out, he’d pull that motherfucking Batarian’s head off with his own hands. “That alright?”  
  
The eyes blink slowly at him again. “Yeah.” He waits the kid out, knowing there’s something else he’s chewing over. Finally he asks, “Do you think...that my parents would mind?”  
  
He moves back into the room, sits on the edge of Paxton’s bed. “Well. I didn’t know them. What d'you think?”  
  
There’s a shift in the bed as he settles himself down into the mattress. Soon he’ll need new pillows to compensate for the fringe that is so obviously beginning to grow out. “I think they’d be okay with it,” he says finally after thinking for a little while.  
  
He reaches out, tucks the blanket in around a bony shoulder.  
  
“Zaeed?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I miss them.”  
  
They haven’t talked much about Paxton’s parents. He didn’t want to push, force him into divulging secrets. He knows how important those secrets are, how safe it feels to hold them close to the chest. He gives the shoulder under his hand a squeeze. “I know. You’re allowed. Miss them as much as you want. I’ll tell you this though. I think they would have been proud of you today. You were brave. Hell, I’m proud of you. Handled yourself well.”  
  
“But I didn’t see the Batarian. Not until she grabbed me.”  
  
“Well, you just need some practice. Learn what to look for. Everyone makes mistakes. The trick is to live through it so you can learn from them.” He smoothes the edges of the blanket. “Just glad nothing happened to you.”  
  
“Zaeed?”  
  
"Hm."  
  
"Don't you have any family?"  
  
The question swirls around in his head. Does he? He knows what the boy is asking. Blood family. He doesn't know. His father is probably long dead, he's never bothered to find out for sure. He had had an aunt, his mother's sister. Whether she's alive is anyone's guess.  
  
"I suppose my family is right here. You and Ingrid and Garrus. Kasumi too-"  
  
"But. Didn't you say you had a sister?" The boy's eyes are curious and hopeful, as if he needs to have that extended family web around him. Which only makes sense, considering he's Turian.  
  
He takes a long moment, stilling the ache in his throat. Anymore, Jessie is just a blur of dark hair and a round face, her features formless and shifting with time and forgetfulness. Her voice, though. Her voice is still clear as day. She still calls to him some nights when he’s nearly asleep, her voice right in his ear. “Zaeed.” It sends him awake with a full body spasm while his pulse races in his throat.  
  
“I did. Jessica. We called her Jessie-”  
  
“Like your gun?”  
  
“Yeah. Like my rifle.”  
  
“Can I meet her? Did she survive the war?”  
  
He swallows, the ache in his throat now a burn. His fingers rub over the edge of blanket. “She died. Long time ago.” He sighs, sees the disappointment in the boy’s eyes. “She died before we even knew Turians existed. Before the mass relay was found. Bet she would have like you though. She liked mouthy, badly behaved, ignoring-adult-direction, do-whatever-they-want boys.” He doesn't bother to hide his grin as he says it, all too fond of the child he’s describing. And fully aware he’s describing himself at that age as well.  
  
Paxton giggles, but the smile fades almost as fast as it had sprung up. “Zaeed?”  
  
“What now?”  
  
“I miss Ingrid.”  
  
He hears the sorrow and loneliness in his subvocals. It’s been hard for Zaeed to show affection to the boy, not because he doesn’t want to, but because he’s not sure about most things Turian. The boy is standoffish for reasons that may be his own, may be cultural. And it’s not just with him, but with Garrus as well. So he takes his cues from the older Turian. He knows Garrus hears things in the boy’s subvocals that he himself hears doesn’t understand. But he does understand this loneliness that he hears, the sadness of it sending shivers down his back. He leans down, hugging Paxton awkwardly for a moment until he feels small arms around his neck.  
  
An image flashes of Paxton grappled, that brief moment of helplessness he had felt. He hugs the child closer with both arms, the small frame almost fragile. And yes, maybe he is getting his fringe and his carapace is beginning to fill out, but he's still just a kid. Still a youngling who needs protection.  
  
“I know. I do too. I’m sorry I fucked up.”  
  
 _Don’t make promises you can’t keep._ But he can’t help himself. It's on him to put this right. “We’ll get her back.”  
  
He’s trying to remember how much whiskey is left in the bottle. One tip of the head back, how much can he swallow?  
  
~~~~~  
  
He finds Garrus and Kasumi with their heads bent over the Batarian’s backpack. Both of them talking over each other, giddy with newfound tech. Two proverbial kids in a proverbial candy store.  
  
“Heat dispersal!” Garrus looks up at the woman. “How is that possible? It’s like having the Normandy’s heat sink capabilities, but for a single person.”  
  
“Heat build-up is fairly high, though,” Kasumi says. She attaches the backpack’s wiring to Garrus’ computer. “Which explains that brief heat signature in the loading bay. From the coding, it looks like it’s set to discharge at irregular intervals, between two to four minutes.”  
  
“This is just so-Where did she get this?” Garrus picks up the Batarian’s visor, scrolling through the algorithms on the small display. “Where did she get any of this? Even the visor is better than mine.” His subvocals twinge with more than a bit of jealousy. “It’s looks similar to the Sentry Interface Shepard had picked up at the Cipritine Armory. But this has been modded beyond belief. Whoever did this is a genius.”  
  
“Any idea yet on who she is?” Zaeed asks. He stifles a yawn, trying to focus on the tangle of tech layed out in front of him. What sleep he’s had lately has been too little; his brain not wanting to stop tumbling over and disturbed by dreams if he does manage to somehow fall asleep. But he’s not the only one. They’re all running on stims and pure cantankerousness at this point.  
  
“Liara’s working on it. She’s also peeved that she’s never heard of this tech before-”  
  
“Do you blame me, Garrus?” Liara’s voice pipe up over the comm. “But I think I might have figured out who she is, and why I haven’t heard of this personal heat sink.” A file opens up on one of the screens in the CIC as Liara forwards information to Garrus’ computer. “Gelo Kheskakk.” The screen switches to a picture of the female Batarian. It’s grainy, taken somewhere on Omega with a security camera. She’s in Blue Suns armor and standing right next to Vido Santiago. “One of Vido’s most trusted lieutenants.”  
  
“Never heard of her,” Zaeed says. He squints at the picture, trying to make out details.  
  
“I’m not surprised. Within five years, she went from being a recruit in the Blue Suns to being their best tech expert. Managed to keep her name off the extranet. She also managed to work her way into the inner circle, gained Vido’s trust so much she was allowed access to even his private communications as a way to ensure security. After Zorya, she helped bring in Vido. It looks like she was the one who kept him hidden for several years. Then when Aria commandeered the gangs on Omega, she and a few other lieutenants refused to participate. They and about twenty regular gang members broke off on their own. Many of those were on Sanctum when Vido was captured, Zaeed. But I’m not finding any record of her after that. My guess is she’s the one who somehow managed to orchestrate the bombs in the ventilation system at the Krogan prison, and set up this entire trail of breadcrumbs for us to follow.” Her voice takes on a note of appreciation as she talks. “She must have been working on this heat sink in private. By the Goddess. If she had been one of my agents, she would have been unstoppable. Her level of tech abilities is phenomenal. Especially for a Batarian.”  
  
“They’re not known for being tech savvy,” Kasumi said.  
  
“No, indeed. But there’s something else. I think she and Vido were...a thing.”  
  
“A ‘thing’?” Garrus asks. “What do you mean?”  
  
The image on the screen changes to another grainy picture, still on Omega, but the figures in the image are further away. Still it’s obviously Vido and a Batarian, both in Blue Suns armor. Embracing. Kissing. A shudder racks Zaeed’s body in revulsion.  
  
“I think they were in a relationship,” Liara says.  
  
Turns out, there’s about half a bottle of that whiskey left. He puts a dent in it.  
  
~~~~~  
  
He stares into the darkness. Kasumi had chased them from the CIC, claiming she’d come wake up Garrus in five hours so he could take the next shift. It’s a welcome chance. He always sleeps better next to his mate and there’s been little opportunity for that since they started on this rescue mission. He had called Kasumi a bossy bitch, but she had just laughed and told them to get out.  
  
Garrus is a blanket around him, his heat pressed into his back, and for once he doesn’t complain when those strong Turian arms wrap around him too tightly and hard plates mold to his flesh. He almost needs it: to have the air nearly forced from his lungs, to feel like his ribs are being crushed, to have the dull ache of talons pressing into his skin. It anchors him as his brain tips sideways from the whiskey. Proof that he’s alive and kicking, not alone. The pressure finally relents after a long while, but he knows Garrus is still awake behind him. He can practically hear the wheels turning.  
  
“I’ve been thinking,” Garrus says.  
  
“Ah. So that's what the burned out gear smell is.”  
  
He’s given a nip on his shoulder for the insult. “Be serious.”  
  
“I am being serious. You should get that checked out.”  
  
Rough Turian mouth plates nuzzle up to the back of his neck. “There’s a place on Beckenstein that was confiscated a couple months ago in a red sand raid. Pretty big property out on a run of scenic shoreline. Nearly ten thousand hectares. It’s secluded, mostly forest and the beach. It’s going to be auctioned off fairly soon. Should be relatively cheap since no one’s buying much property.” Garrus’ thumb is moving over his chest. He feels the movement through his tshirt.  
  
“You want to buy it and hide out?”  
  
“I want to buy it. Sell the apartment. Make the place on Beckenstein home base.”  
  
He turns slightly, peers over his shoulder. “Home base?”  
  
“I have this crazy idea. Don’t-” his mouth is quickly covered by Garrus’ hand, “-make a smartass comment. Just shut that sexy mouth and listen. I can hire a team if I want. I hadn’t, haven’t because, well. I wanted to go it alone. But now I have this silly notion that I’d like to survive for a while longer. Maybe it would be good to have a team to help further that goal. There’re no regs against having a family onboard a Spectre ship. It’s unusual, but not unheard of. Provided the kids’ adoptions go through, we can take them anywhere. We don’t have to stay on Earth.”  
  
He turns in his mate’s arms, peers at him in the dim light that comes from the console on his desk. “You want us to come with you?” His heart speeds slightly at the prospect. Why hadn’t he thought of this himself?  
  
“I want to hire you as part of my team. I want the children to come along.” Garrus’ warm breath puffs over his face. “I miss you. I’m tired of missing you. And today, it just cemented the idea in my head. I like having you at my six, I like even better being at yours so I can watch your sexy ass. We’ve always worked well together. I’ve missed that too. I remembered today how much I’ve missed that. And it’s not like I haven’t already taken you along on missions already, although that’s been more of the unofficial variety. This would just make it all on the up and up.” His mouth is moving over his cheek, gently caressing. “We use the place on Bekenstein to remember how to breathe fresh air, to give the children a chance to run on grass.”  
  
“Been thinking about this for a while?”  
  
“A bit. I wanted to wait, maybe until the paperwork has gone through. But I don’t want to wait anymore. I want it to happen. I want to get Ingrid back and do it. I want you with me. I want to help raise the kids not just when I’m home, but all the time.”  
  
“What about school? We’re not going to raise a couple idiots.” He likes the idea, likes it so much he feels stupid for playing devil’s advocate. But there are things they should hammer out first.  
  
“Well, you and I can tutor them. Maybe whoever else I take on can help round out with what we don’t know.”  
  
“Sounds like you have someone in mind already.”  
  
“Remember Veetor’Nara? The Quarian we found on Freedom’s Progress?”  
  
“Yeah. He’s kind of...twitchy.”  
  
“You called Joker twitchy too.”  
  
“Well, he is goddamnit.”  
  
“Tali says he’s a really good pilot. So maybe 'twitchy' is a requirement for the job. And he’s good with engines. Not as good as Tali, but better than me. He doesn’t like it on Rannoch. Too big and open, too many people around for him apparently. He’s looking for something to do. Also, Bailey contacted me. There’s a female Drell, biotic. She doesn’t fit in at C-Sec. But he says she’s a hard worker, sharp mind and-added bonus-she's a field medic. He said she reminds Chellik of me when I was-” Garrus stops, pulls back a little to look down at him. “What is it? You don’t like the idea?”  
  
“No, it’s not that. Except for that first time you took it upon yourself to rub your scent all over me, I think it’s the best goddamn idea you've ever had.” Jack’s words ring in his head. “There hasn’t been time to tell you. What Jack said.”  
  
“She thinks Ingrid is biotic, too?”  
  
He sighs, pulls closer, tucks his face in Garrus’ carapace. “Yeah.”  
  
Arms tug him even closer, legs wrap around him. “All the more reason to have a biotic on board.”  
  
 _If we get her back._ But madness lies that way too. He won’t let himself entertain that idea. They’ll get her back. They have to get her back. She’s too precious to him-to all three of them, too innocent of the hard world that waits for her.  
  
“So,” Garrus says over his head, speaking into the darkness, “you like the idea?”  
  
He thinks instead of not having to watch Garrus leave on another mission. Of suiting up beside him, of having his six, of being there if he falls. It feels comfortable and familiar. It could work. They could make it work. He’s intrigued by the property on Bekenstein. Wants to have a look at it. Wonders if there are buildings there or if they’d need to bring in prefabs.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
He does protest then when Garrus hugs him tighter, but only so he can breathe. His mate purrs to him, carapace vibrating enough so he can feel it in his bones. He gets a strong whiff of Garrus' musk as he rubs his crest over his head, through his hair. Normally that would spark desire, but he's so tired that his exhaustion hits him like a wall and he thinks maybe he can sleep for a little, even while he tries not to think of Ingrid- _have they feed her? is she scared? goddamnit, is she hurt?_ He needs a plan, something concrete to hold on to. He needs to be doing something. But first, sleep.  
  
“Garrus.” His voice is a gruff whisper in the darkness.  
  
“Zee?”  
  
“Tell me we’ll get her back. I can’t-we goddamn can’t-”  
  
“We’ll get her back. We can’t not get her back.” Fingers stroke over his shoulder, down his side-soothing him in a way only his mate seems to know how to do-before resting between his shoulder blades. “I promise.”  
  
 _Don’t make promises you can’t keep._ His ass is getting pretty goddamn tired of that thought.   
  
\---  
  
 _...blue-sky blue and candy-apple red…_  
  
 _The words repeat, an echo in his head. They have meaning, and the meaning is important. He knows this like he knows how to breathe._  
  
 _He squirms with the colors dripping from his fingers, swirling in patterns over his hands. He looks closer, the thick shimmer of the liquid twining together but never blending, always too bright, too overcharged with color. Unnatural and alive._  
  
 _“This isn’t right.”_  
  
 _He feels a pull in the air, sucking him backwards, forwards, forcing him down to his knees. He lands on the tiled floor of the kitchen, the bumps of the grouted edges digging into his flesh._  
  
 _There’s Ingrid laughing, handing him a crayon, shiny bright and dripping candy-apple red. Wax. No. Blood. Dripping blood. “I made this for you, Papa.” That’s not right either, but her words are in his head. Her voice is light and airy, carries easily to him. “Isn’t it pretty?”_  
  
 _His voice chokes him, words caught somewhere in his throat. Yes, he wants to say. No, he needs to say. He has to tell her it isn’t safe. She should run, hide._  
  
 _She hands him another crayon, blue-sky blue this time. Blue like Garrus’ eyes Garrus’ markings Garrus’ blood. “Not Daddy, Papa,” she says. “Paxton made this.” Not Garrus then. Paxton. Where is Paxton? He should be looking for Paxton. But that's not right either. He should be looking for Ingrid. But Ingrid is here, right in front of him._  
  
 _He looks down at the crayons in his hand. They are easily swallowed up, become swirls of blue-sky blue and candy-apple red. Tinges of blackness twine through them and he doesn’t want that poison on him. No. Not on his hands. He pushes at the colors, thick and sticky. Fucking persistent. He manages to push some off, sliding one hand down his forearm and over his palm, but the remaining sludge fills in the gap, darkening further with the oily blackness creeping in little by little. Until so little blue-sky blue and candy-apple red are left, just thin lines of color remaining in the sea of inky nothing that coats his hands and arms. He pushes it away, again and again, heart beat a drum in his neck-_  
  
He jerks awake, heart racing. Finds familiar landmarks in the near-darkness of Garrus’ quarters. On Garrus’ ship. Right.  
  
Dream.  
  
Just a goddamn dream.  
  
He stifles a gasp, wanting to draw air into his lungs. He rolls over in the bed onto his back, his fingers brushing along the plates of Garrus’ hip. Images of the dream flash at him and he resists the urge to look at his hands. Instead he finds one hand embraced by firm Turian fingers.  
  
“Alright?” His mate's flanged subvocals vibrate through him, knock the dream askew.  
  
“Yeah.” He tightens his own fingers within the grip. He wonders if he woke Garrus or if he had already been awake. Finds he doesn’t really care. He looks over to see blue eyes (not blue-sky blue, lighter blue and full of warmth) blinking at him as Garrus lays on his stomach.  
  
“Need anything? Water? Whiskey? In-flight magazine? Counseling services?”  
  
Yeah. He fucking needs something. He needs for everything to go back to the way it was last week, when children were tucked safely away in their beds and not kitted out in new armor or fuck only knows where, alone and afraid. Still, he huffs a little laugh at Garrus’ attempts to lighten the mood. “I’m good.”  
  
“Okie.”  
  
He releases his hand, rolls again to bring himself in line with Garrus' body. He throws an arm across his back and a leg over his thigh, sliding his foot down until his calf locks in under the spur. Garrus hums, the sound vibrating the bed. A soft puff of his Turian’s breath brushes his cheek as he sighs deeply, blue eyes already closed. His chest tightens as he falls a little bit more in love with his bonded mate, despite all the other shit floating around in his brain, despite the worries that plague him that he won’t talk about.  
  
He sleeps, convinced that he won’t.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to put on some thinking caps, guys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter chapter today. But the next few will more than make up for it.

They waste a day. And then another. And then a week has gone by and Zaeed wants to kick things. Hard things. And make dents in them. Really big dents. They’re chasing all over, deeper into the Terminus System. One of Uzin’s moons in Kriseroi. Boro in Satent. Ganug-where they had to be extra careful of Krogan and Vorcha. And now they’re heading to Tosal Nym in Xe Cha. Each time the same, the comm interface connected to a timer, connected to a bomb that looks like it’s old enough to have been left over from the First Contact War. Tampering with the comm buoy initiates the new data stream leading to another planet.  
  
He looks carefully at the scans of the bombs, something still trying to trigger a memory. He doesn’t usually deal with this old shit, leaving it for the ones dumb enough to not negotiate hazard pay. But something needles at his brain, worming its way through all the old remembrances. He worries at it, won’t quit thinking about it until he finally realizes what he’s looking at, wonders what sort of sick practical joke Vido thinks he’s telling.  
  
“Those old bombs. They’re from a job,” he says and Garrus looks at him from over the table in the lounge like he’s mad. Probably he is. “Goddamn Blue Suns.” The urge to kick something returns, so he kicks the bulkhead. “We were hired to deliver some old ammunition. Alliance had this warehouse, abandoned on some backwater planet. Shit was just sitting there, rotting in the jungle. Vido wanted to hire goddamn Batarians to do the dirty work. Cheap and expendable, he said. But we hadn’t used them before. Didn’t see why we should start then. Knew he’d want to keep on hiring them even after that, take them on full time. Didn’t see the point, told him no way in hell. Wasn’t the first time. Guess it was the last time though because soon after he shot me in the goddamn fucking face. Left me for dead.”  
  
Garrus leans back in his chair. “You think these are those same old bombs?”  
  
“They have serial numbers?” Kasumi nods and starts running them through her omnitool. She finds them quickly.  
  
“You could be right. They're Alliance, listed as ‘disposed without use.’ Which could mean anything. Why do you think he still has them? You said someone hired you to pick them up?”  
  
Zaeed shrugs, sits down at the table. He slouches back, crosses his arms over his chest. “Maybe the payment never went through. Maybe the buyer changed his mind. Maybe Vido decided to keep them for himself. No idea. But for some reason, he seems to think this means something to me.”  
  
“So is this some sort of clue? Or does he think he’s being clever?” Kasumi types as she talks, scrolling through something on her omnitool. “Do you remember who hired you for that job?”  
  
He scrubs at his face in frustration. “Naw. He took care of that. I was the gun, came up with the plan.” He looks over at Garrus, sees the worry etching itself into his face. This entire escapade has gone on too long.  
  
His mate leans forward. “He’s leading us all over. Do any of these places we’ve been mean anything to you? Past jobs? Hideouts? Anything?”  
  
He searches through memories. “Well, Omega is obvious. That was where we first met up. And where he tried to kill me. Good times.” His gaze comes to rest on Garrus, eyes tracing over his markings. He sighs, groans, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes. Red fireworks form, but it doesn’t ease his headache. “First job was picking up this businessman, bodyguard work. He was setting up a new factory of some sort. Where was that? Illium or some such. Took him there. Tagged along with him while he conducted his business. Then dropped him off at Watson.” He feels the color drain from his face at the sudden memory.  
  
Garrus and Kasumi both sit up. “Where the second bomb was.”  
  
He narrows his eyes, doubtful. “Big planet. We weren’t anywhere near where we dropped him.”  
  
Garrus’ leg is rocking with a sudden burst of excitement. “Still…”  
  
“Could be coincidence.”  
  
Kasumi stands up, pacing as she types and nods. “You get that, Liara?”  
  
“I did. I think I can get into some old Blue Suns records. Maybe see if Vido kept a log of jobs.”  
  
He feels Garrus’ hand on his arm. “Do you remember what came next?”  
  
He’s always prided himself on his memory, able to recall details from something that had happened twenty years ago. But he feels a little put on the spot. “We did hundreds of goddamn jobs. They tend to blur together. All these places, we were probably at all of them several times.” The weight of memories swirls and combines with the press of urgency and his headache increases.  
  
“So, what else?” Garrus’ voice has an edge to it, frustration mirroring his own. “He’s hiding somewhere. He has some sort of backup place, somewhere…” his voice drifts as he looks at Zaeed with wide eyes. “Home base.”  
  
His own eyes widen, eyebrows up to his hairline. “Home base?”  
  
“We’re going about this wrong,” he stands and heads to the CIC, brings up the map. “Liara, who owned the mining facility where Vido was captured two years ago?”  
  
There’s a pause while she works, then, “Before the war, it was owned by the Blue Suns, confiscated in the raid. But they bought it from Sanctum Mineral Works as a depleted mine. Most of Blue Suns’ property has been either destroyed in the war, or confiscated by various governments. Anything that Aria kept is fairly close to Omega. The Blue Suns pretty much melted into her new organization.”  
  
“You said ‘most.’ Anything left?”  
  
“These files are certainly out of date, but from what I can tell there are about ten abandoned mines, a couple fueling outposts-also abandoned, a few factories here or there-”  
  
“The mines,” Zaeed says, peering around Garrus’ shoulder at the map. “He’s a creature of habit, our Vido. He likes to stick to what he knows and he knows all about hiding like a goddamn pyjak in shitholes no one else wants.” His heart has picked up speed, excitement that maybe, finally, they can get a lock on the asshole that’s taken their child.  
  
“There’s something else,” Liara says. “Each time we trigger the data stream, I’ve seen a separate ping. At first I thought it was just background frequency noise. But I’ve compiled the data from all the comm buoys each time it happened. They all appear to be an alert, sent out each time it’s triggered.”  
  
“So Vido knows exactly where we are,” Zaeed said. “He’s able to keep tabs on us.”  
  
“Exactly. The end point is somewhere in Earth Alliance Space, but we’d have to set off another data stream for me to pinpoint it exactly. It would be better to have someone on the other end to help calibrate when the ping goes off.”  
  
“‘Calibrate’ is my middle name,” Garrus gloats. “So how do we manage to be in two places at once? I don’t even have a shuttle-”  
  
“If I may,” Liara says, “Feron has already volunteered and is currently heading up to his ship. He’ll head to the next planet and trigger the comm once you’re in place.”  
  
“Alliance Space is goddamn huge,” Zaeed says. He gets up, looks over the CIC map. “We just gonna plant our butts somewhere in the middle and cross our fingers?”  
  
“Two of the mines and one of the fueling outposts are in Alliance space,” Kasumi says. “We don’t need to be on top of them, we just need to know what we’re looking for. Liara, send me the signature on the ping and I’ll get a program running to look for it. We just need to coordinate with Feron, make sure we’re all paying close attention when he sets it off.”  
  
“Already done,” Laira says. “Feron reports his ship is warming up. ETA to Tosal Nym is six hours.”  
  
Garrus types quickly at the haptic controls. “Right, turning the ship around.”  
  
A surge of admiration for his mate sends a shiver of longing down his spine and he finds he can't look away from him. The Turian looks back at him. "What?"  
  
He smirks. When this is over, he can think of a few things he wants to do to the Turian. Most of which will take some time to complete. “‘ _Calibrations_ ’ is my middle name,’” he mocks. “I happen to know your middle name is-”  
  
“Badass,” Garrus interrupts with a smile. “And yours is-”  
  
“Goddamn.” He winks at his mate.  
  
~~~~~  
  
Six and a half hours later and they’re sitting in Earth Alliance Space close to the mass relay of the Utopia system, waiting for Feron to trigger the next comm data stream. Paxton is bouncing at Zaeed’s elbow, barely able to keep himself contained. He lets the boy bounce and tries not to join in.  
  
He looks down at the CIC map. One of the mines and the fuel station sit fairly close together in nearby systems. The other mine is on Khar’shan-the Batarian homeworld. If he were a betting man-and he is-he’d lay odds on that one. But best to be sure so they don’t have to waste any more time.  
  
“Feron’s in place,” Liara reports. “Triggering now.”  
  
There’s a tense moment as they all apparently decide to hold their breath. He watches the map, aware of Garrus at the helm, fingers poised to enter in a destination. Seconds pass and they wait.  
  
“I got it!” Kasumi sits up quickly in what has become her chair.  
  
“That was fast,” Zaeed mutters.  
  
“Hey, you want slow or not at all, do it yourself. You want fast, talk to Liara.” She grins at him, her dark eyes sparkling. “You want done before you’ve finished your sentence, talk to me.” She winks, looks back at her terminal. “Oh, shit. Okay, Garrus. You’re not going to like this. You can enter in the command any time.”  
  
“What am I not going to like?” He groans as he follows the link. “Oh that’s just great.”  
  
Zaeed looks closer, feels a numbing dread spread through his veins. It sucks to be right sometimes. Khar’Shan is lit up like Garrus' goddamn christmas tree on the map.  
  
“You sure about this?”  
  
“I’m sure. Not exactly what I would call a vacation highlight, but I’m positive that the signal ping is going right there.”  
  
Garrus is quickly typing in commands. “Not your fault, Kasumi. But I suddenly wish I had the Normandy’s stealth capabilities on this ship.”  
  
“Population estimates are incomplete at best,” Liara says, “but most put it around a hundred thousand left on the homeworld. I don’t think they’re going to really take much notice that you’re there. They have little military left, still no satellite communications. Most of the population is centered at several larger cities in the northern hemisphere.”  
  
“A hundred thou-” Zaeed takes a deep breath. He had no idea the planet had been so decimated. Another lie. He’d heard, but he honestly couldn’t spare a thought to give a good goddamn. “How is there even a goddamn place for Vido to hide there?”  
  
“Plenty of rubble to lurk under if nothing else,” Garrus says beside him.  
  
Zaeed just grunts. “How long?”  
  
“Two hours, just. Plenty of time to gear up and try and come up with a plan of some sort.”  
  
  
“Alright. Paxton, go grab your armor.” He takes a step away from the CIC, intending to follow the boy and get his own armor on. Before he can move too far his mate stands and grabs his hand, pulls him close and gently bumps their heads together. He takes a moment to stop, sighs lightly. Their fingers are twined together and he sags a little into Garrus, feels his blasted keel bone press into his chest.  
  
“We’re close,” Garrus says. “She won’t have much longer to wait.” He hears the comfort Garrus is trying to convey in his subharmonics. And it works. To a small degree.  
  
“Yeah, okay.”  
  
There’s a noise next to them and he turns his head slightly, forehead still pressed to Garrus’ crest. Kasumi stands close by with her omnitool out and pointed at them, grinning like an idiot. “You two are so sweet.”  
  
“Kasumi,” Zaeed growls.  
  
“Yep?”  
  
“Tell me you didn’t just take a picture or-” oh shit, even worse “-a vid? Tell me you didn’t just take a goddamn vid.”  
  
“Okay. I didn’t _just_ take a goddamn vid.”  
  
Which means- “Kasumi, goddamnit!” Pictures and a vid. Nightmare visions of Garrus and himself-cuddling like a couple of teenagers-being plastered over the extranet chill his blood.  
  
“What?” She grins again, the cheeky little bitch. “It was too cute to pass up. You mercs are so sensitive.” He hears a ping at his and Garrus' wrists. “I’ll only send them to you boys. And maybe Shep. Although I’m pretty sure Jack will want a copy. And Grunt…And definitely James."  
  
"I want one, too," Liara says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your comments and kudos! It really does make a difference knowing that someone out there is reading this insanity.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody gets to shoot stuff.
> 
> Finally.

Khar’Shan is a nightmare factory. Even now, several years after the war, there are hardly any communications with the planet. What little is there is Alliance military, sent as a goodwill gesture-and grudgingly accepted-to aid the small population that remains. Zaeed has implemented his share of scorched-earth operations, but the level and definitive intensity of what he sees forms an uneasy knot in his stomach. He’d never liked Batarians, and since his stint in a Batarian prison he’d nurtured a healthy and complete hatred for the species. But this. This he wouldn’t wish on any species. They step down off the Comet with their helmets and masks on against the acrid pollution that fills the air. Gritty particles of questionable origin coat every surface. Corpses of all sorts lay where they had dropped, picked clean by omnivore bird analogs who have grown fat and belligerent, squawking at them as they maneuver carefully over the remains of a once thriving planet.  
  
The mine is in an unpopulated area, deep in the southern hemisphere. Liara had pointed out before they landed that most of the survivors had congregated in several large cities in the north where it would be easiest to distribute food and water, but in the back of his mind, Zaeed knew there were always the scavengers and dregs of society that didn’t conform to the notion that it was better to come together in a group hug when times got tough. There would always be someone willing to pick through the bodies of the dead to find treasure.  
  
A fiery meteor catches his eye, lit up against the darkened gray of the air. Corpses of Reaper juggernauts had been thick in the atmosphere, caught in the planet’s gravity and only just recently were the largest being pulled away towards the nearest gaseous planet where they could burn up. Most had broken apart to some degree from the blast of the Crucible, puzzle pieces floating in a disjointed jumble. But a few still remained whole, or nearly whole, as if asleep, simply ready to be awakened. They looked like death waiting in the wings. Some of the pieces were falling to the surface, pulled in by the planet’s gravity. He can hear the meteor now, the rush and rumble of air burning as it passes far overhead.  
  
“ _I see beauty in destruction, freedom in the purging of fire, universal justice in expansion and contraction, each molecule blown apart to recreate itself_ ,” Garrus says at his shoulder.  
  
“ _To be so torn asunder,_ ” Kasumi continues on, her eyes also on the meteor, “ _that I am pulled asunder and remade stronger, until my heart and my head are one and the same, and find redemption in being remade._ Gaiso Achacius, Second Hierarchy, _Under the Towers of Old_. One of my personal favorites.”  
  
Zaeed turns a surprised and appreciative eye on his mate. The day he stops learning new things about Garrus is hopefully the day he dies. “Since when do you recite poetry?”  
  
Garrus shrugs. “Certain things were drilled into my head. My father would give Sol and I particular poems and if we memorized them within a specific time, we’d get rewards like Battle Cards.”  
  
“I have Battle Cards,” Paxton says. “My dad gave me Destiia Itascus and Kana Eponia just before we left for Earth.”  
  
“Kana Eponia? Nice. I’ll trade you for Nul Quint.”  
  
Paxton grins and shakes his head. “No way. Nul Quint was killed by a Volus.”  
  
Garrus groans. “I know. Been trying to get rid of that card for twenty years.”  
  
Zaeed looks between the two Turians. “What the hell are you two yammering on about?”  
  
Garrus pats his shoulder, “Battle Cards. Keep up, Zee.” He gives his shoulder a squeeze that he can’t feel through his armor, but he can hear the light scrape of metal on metal. The Turian turns his attention to Kasumi. “Which way?”  
  
Kasumi points.  
  
It’s a simple plan. He likes simple plans. More room to maneuver when things go wrong. Kasumi will go into the mine stealthed, recon what she finds and report back. The rest of them will take up positions just outside the mine entrance. He dampens down the nervous twinge of energy when he thinks of what she might find in there. Any scans they’d attempted were foiled by interference due to the mine’s composition of heavy metals.  
  
“Going dark,” Kasumi says. Her armor shimmers briefly and then she’s gone, disappearing into the air.  Zaeed takes a deep breath, focusing in on their objective.  
  
Ingrid. So close.  
  
Garrus’ hand lands on his arm, armors tapping lightly together. “Hey. You okay?”  
  
He shrugs. “Can’t think about goddamn okay right now.”  
  
The faceplate of Garrus’ helmets briefly reflects the distant meteor as he dips his head once before he moves away up the hill. Zaeed knows he understands. Worry about being okay later. Just get the job done, complete the objective. Get in and get out and do everything you can to make sure everyone gets out alive.  
  
Only this isn’t just any other job. He has stakes in this, his own personal investment. Emotion that threatens to derail his ability to detach and soldier on. How did Shepard do it, he wonders. All those personal missions he agreed to help with, all the deaths that affected him personally. How did he manage to keep all this compartmentalized? He has a new appreciation for the man, that he got through all of it without his brain turning to jelly. It was one of the things that Zaeed used to pride himself on, not getting personally involved in the job. But that’s all changed and it’s imperative that he change with it. That or lose his fucking mind.  
  
Another shaky breath and they’re moving up towards the mine entrance. The opening of the tunnel has halfway collapsed, rigging pulled down around it in a twisted mess. There is still no one around and he’s certain they’re unexpectedly early for Vido’s little party. He wonders how many other comm relays they were supposed to hit before they actually got to this part.  
  
“So, we’re all agreed this is a trap, right?” Garrus says.  
  
“Yup.” He finds a spot to crouch down, flanking the tunnel entrance with Garrus and Paxton on the other side.  
  
Kasumi laughs lightly. “It’s so obvious I want to take notes and grade him on it.”  
  
“So what grade would you give him so far?” Zaeed peers through his scope, finds Garrus and Paxton in position and scans the hillside behind them. There’s not many places further up to hide. All the trees have been burned to ash, but there are small green things that have begun to grow. Life emerging from the rubble.  
  
“On a scale of one to ten, a three. That’s with bonus points for using the old bombs. I like that touch. Makes it personal.”  
  
He huffs. “This is all too goddamn personal. Stealing our girl made it personal.”  
  
“Entering the tunnel,” Kasumi says quietly. “But using the bombs,” she continues with her train of thought, “he’s saying he knows that you know that he knows that it’s personal.”  
  
“That’s just psychotic and weird,” Garrus mutters.  
  
“Well that would be Vido in a goddamn nutshell,” Zaeed says. “No fucking clue how Blue Suns got so big under his command.”  
  
“Don’t see anyone so far,” Kasumi says, “alive or dead. The place has been cleaned out though. Going silent.”  
  
“Roger that,” Garrus says.  
  
Stay safe, Zaeed thinks. He doesn’t say it. Kasumi knows what she’s doing. He trusts her. Still, he can’t stop the thought. When did he get to be such a goddamn wuss?  
  
The waiting begins. Waiting for something to happen.  
  
Preferably waiting for nothing too thrilling to happen.  
  
He hears Garrus switch over to a private channel. “Massani.”  
  
“What.”  
  
“Stop breathing so hard. You’re giving me a hard-on.”  
  
“Shut the hell up, Vakarian.” But he hears what his mate is trying to tell him. Calm the fuck down. He takes a deep breath and slows his breathing, concentrating on the terrain around them. Why is no one here waiting for them? They should be knee deep in dead bodies right about now. The fact is they could very well be in the wrong place. He steels his gut for that eventuality.  
  
~~~~~  
  
**2148/9, Zaeed age 12**  
**London, England**  
  
It was the worst winter in his short memory. Snow and freezing rain, long days of no sun. No warmth to find except what little they could scavenge to burn or burrow under. He stole what he could, shoes that didn’t fit, coats that were too short or too thin. They were chased from buildings in the middle of the night, running from cops who told them they should go back to their parents. They never did manage to go to school, always more concerned survival. That didn’t stop him from stealing books when he could, reading them to Jessie under the cover of cardboard boxes, his throat raw from a cold.  
  
She had one too. And it didn’t go away as fast as his did, lingering in her chest until he feared she would cough up her lungs. Her fever spiked, her cheeks flushed an angry red. Whatever medicine he could pilfer never helped. Then she did cry, calling for their mum, scared and shivering from the cold, from the heat of her body.  
  
He found a clinic, full of people like them: homeless and destitute, dressed in the discarded clothes of others more fortunate. He carried her in, gave a name not his own, sat them both down and waited. At least there it was warm, and he found clean water from a drinking fountain that he brought to her in tiny paper cups. They waited a long time, all day and into the evening. Jessie fell asleep on his shoulder, her body hot beside him. They waited and people stared because there was nothing else to do. He stared back until his eyes closed, exhaustion catching up to him, his body finally warm.  
  
She stopped shivering at some point while he was asleep, her body slack against his, nearly pushing him over. A man in a lab coat stood over them, looking down in disapproval. “You kids need to get outta here. We’re closing.” The lobby was empty save for them.  
  
“My sister is sick.”  
  
The man bent over her, feeling the pulse at her neck. He blinked several times, his brow coming down in concern. His fingers pulled off her mittens, searching for the pulse at her wrist. He stood suddenly, bellowing towards the back, “Crash cart! Room one! Now!”  
  
The man picked her up. She was so light, so small. He carried her easily, laying her on a bed in a brightly lit room. Zaeed followed and could only stare in horror as he watched the man and soon a woman as they worked over her, injected her with drugs, desperation in their movements.  
  
It took hours. It was only minutes.  
  
And then they stopped. Looked at each other and shook their heads in that way adults did. The Universal No. The woman began entering information into a computer. The man glanced up, saw him, seemed to suddenly remember he was there in the room, watching it all.  
  
“I’m sorry-”  
  
“No.” Zaeed took a step back, into the hallway.  
  
“We couldn’t-if you had-” He did seem genuinely sorry. “Can we at least...where are your parents?”  
  
Zaeed shook his head, his heart breaking into dust. “No.” It was a whisper. A prayer.  
  
“Do you have someone? Anyone?”  
  
He turned and ran out the door.  
  
Out into the cold.  
  
~~~~~  
  
**Present Day**  
  
He notes the time. Nine and a half minutes she’s been in there. They had agreed on fifteen before anyone would panic, rush in guns blazing. He doesn’t like this not knowing.  
  
Kasumi’s quiet voice comes over the comms. “I’ve found some explosives set with trigger-wire. Old school stuff. You’d like it, Zaeed. Someone’s been here recently. There are cameras, but nothing that could pick up someone in stealth. I'm putting them all on a loop. A couple turrets, I disabled those. There’s a side room where some carcasses had been thrown, but they’ve been there for a long time. There’s an elevator I want to check, and then I’ll come guide you in.”  
  
“Do you think they play music for the long ride down?” Garrus says, making his way back down the incline behind Paxton. “I wonder if they take requests. I kinda miss that snappy little tune they used to play on the Citadel.”  
  
“I don’t know, Garrus,” Kasumi says. “Maybe you could hum it if nothing else.”  
  
“Please don’t encourage him,” Zaeed says. They’re at the tunnel entrance, picking their way over the rocks. Paxton walks between them as Zaeed leads them all into the entrance. It feels good knowing Garrus is back there on his six.  
  
“What?” Strains of Garrus’ flanged mock-hurt echo through the comms. “You don’t like my singing?”  
  
“Is that what you call it?”  
  
He feels the whap of Garrus’ glove on his armored ass, an affectionate love tap that has him grinning like an idiot. “Just for that, next time I shall be singing really loud. What’s that one song you don’t like?”  
  
“All of them.”  
  
Paxton giggles and Garrus laughs, still covering their back as they make their way into the tunnel. Zaeed switches out to his rifle. Lighthearted joking aside, if he had hackles, they’d be standing straight up. None of this feels right. Paxton takes a step forward and he grabs his shoulder to hold him back.  
  
“Alright, Pax. Hold up. Don’t get careless.”  
  
The boy turns back to him. Through the visor of his helmet, he can see the anxiety in his eyes. “But Ingrid-”  
  
“Remember what I said? She may not be here. And we need to use caution.” He gives the boy’s shoulder a squeeze. “Take a breath. I know it’s hard, you want to race down there and find her. So do I. Hell, we all do. Doesn’t mean we get stupid.”  
  
Paxton nods, still anxious, but he takes a deep breath. “Okay. Sir.”  
  
Zaeed smirks. “Pistol at the ready. I’ve got point. You follow behind me. Garrus will be on our tails. Got it?”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
Kasumi is not there and there. He feels a tap at his elbow and her voice over the comm. “Straight ahead. There’s a tripwire in eight point three meters. I’ll tell you where to look.”  
  
“Roger that.”  
  
They move forward as a group (just like old times) (kinda sorta). “Keep elbows in, Pax,” Garrus tells the boy and Zaeed feels this strange sort of family camaraderie nestle down into his brain. He’s liking Garrus’ idea more and more. Several times Kasumi tells them to stop, directs Zaeed’s gaze towards a tripwire which he finds easily enough and guides the other two over before stepping carefully over himself. Each time they pause for a moment as Kasumi dismantles the trap so they have a clear path on their way out.  
  
He feels itchy when they come across the turrets and they just sit there, disabled and dumb. He’s ready for something that isn’t happening, the firefight of resistance that Vido should be directing. Garrus must feel the same, because he asks, “Can we blow those up? Just to release tension? One little overload?”  
  
Even though he feels the same, he shakes his head. “Save your ammo, love.”  
  
“Party pooper.”  
  
As they reach the elevator, he sees the brief shimmer that is Kasumi right before she appears. “This place is spooky.”  
  
“My thoughts exactly.” Garrus agrees. “Beyond the normal abandoned mining tunnel with poor lighting spooky.”  
  
“Freaky spooky,” Kasumi says. “If we were in a movie, the audience would be yelling at us to get the hell out.”  
  
“Well, I guess we’re not as smart as the audience, are we?”  
  
They all cluster around the elevator, which is not much more than an iron cage that could certainly drop them to their death. It looks intact. Zaeed peers up towards the works that he can see just above it, needing reassurance that things like brakes and power still work.  
  
“As far as I can tell with scans, it all works,” Kasumi says. Still, Zaeed notes she doesn’t seem to eager to step over onto the metal floor.  
  
It’s the only way down. It’s their only goddamn option. And audience telling them to run away from whatever monster is in the basement or not, there really is only one thing to do. Fuck it. If he’s going to die in an elevator, at least it’s on his way to get his kid back. “Only one way to find out,” he says. He steps in and it sways a fraction. There’s just enough room for the others. “Mind the gap. Going down.”  
  
“If this thing plummets to our deaths, I refuse to tip you.” Garrus nudges him over, guiding Paxton in front of him. Kasumi follows and closes the gate. There are four buttons: one with one dash next to it, one with two dashes next to it, a yellow button, and a black button. Presumably the yellow is an emergency stop, and the black is a resume. Could be the other way around. Could be neither. Could be one is wired to ten tonnes of explosives that will bring the whole mine down on top of them. He pushes the button with two dashes next to it. The elevator jolts and begins its descent, gears grinding above them. His heart resettles itself after a moment, still beating a little too fast.  
  
The gears continue to grind though, even if the ride is fairly smooth. He tilts his head to the side, looking down into the dim tunnel that heads straight down. A few lights beat back the darkness, but there’s no telling how far down it goes, or what waits for them once they get there.  
  
“Well, if they didn’t know we were here before, I think they probably know now.” Garrus voices the thought Zaeed was having as well. This contraption is hardly quiet.  
  
“Agreed.” He considers the four of them for a moment, asks Kasumi, “You think he knows you are here?”  
  
“Shouldn’t. I hacked whatever I could, overrode whatever else. Everything he’s used so far is older than me. Almost as old as you. Should make you feel all nostalgic.”  
  
He huffs at the dig at his age, but lets it pass. “Well, if Liara is right and his financial state is at poverty level, it makes sense. He’s probably had to scrounge for whatever he can get his hands on.”  
  
He peers over the edge again, thinks he can see the bottom maybe. Despite the noise of the grinding gears, which have faded but echo down the tube, the ride has been surprisingly smooth. “Right. Well, regardless. Kasumi, stay stealthed.” He looks down at the boy, who looks back up at him with wide eyes. Overwhelmed maybe. “Paxton, listen to me. You stay cloaked, too. Stick between me and Garrus as much as you can. Don’t fire at anything unless you have to. I don’t want anyone to know where you’re at. And if it all goes to hell and I tell you to run, you run. Get in this elevator and get your ass outta here. You hear me?”  
  
Paxton blinks behind his visor, looks between Garrus and himself. “But-”  
  
“Understood, Pax? Otherwise I send you right back up this fucking slower than hell elevator.”  
  
The boy glowers at him, and he knows that look. Defiance and bull-headed stupidity. He knows that look because it had been a part of his own face for so long. Funny how getting shot and left for dead made him a smarter person.  
  
_...blue-sky blue...candy-apple red..._  
  
He brushes the thought aside. Just a dream that feels like a memory of something real. He hates these moments, when nightmares threaten to intrude on reality. Hates that feeling of being vulnerable. It angers him.  
  
He starts to point at Paxton, but his hand is held down by Garrus, who trills something strong and reassuring. Something that Paxton heeds because it’s in his blood. The boy nods then, reluctant agreement but agreement nonetheless. He can live with that. He glances at his mate, gets a nod in return.  
  
Kasumi and Paxton both cloak just as the lower level comes into view. Zaeed immediately hates what he sees. A long tunnel, straight and dimly lit. No cover at all. And about ten LOKI mechs all pointing pistols at them.  
  
“Ah, shit-”  
  
“Paxton, down!”  
  
“Excuse me-” The mechs barely have time to begin their warning when three of them explode from Kasumi’s overload, sending two others stumbling. He notes Garrus has Paxton behind him as he fires off his own overload. Zaeed crouches down, throws an inferno grenade to take out two more. The mechs in the back slow down their advance, needing to step over the bits and pieces of the ones in front. Still doesn’t stop the bullets that ping off his armor, one hitting him the shoulder that sends a shot wide.  
  
“Anyone else having deja-vu?” Garrus asks, the mechs continue trying to get them to leave the area with that annoyingly polite VI voice.  
  
“I was just thinking the same thing,” Kasumi says, appearing behind the group. “These are Cerberus mechs.” She delivered her melee attack and disappeared. “Or they were. It fits with Kheskakk being a good hacker.”  
  
Once all the mechs are down they survey the damage, find the Cerberus stamp on all of them. Gelo Kheskakk must have picked them up from an abandoned Cerberus base somewhere. There’s no other resistance as they advance down the gentle decline of the tunnel. No tripwire. No cameras. No turrets. Nothing. It makes the inside of Zaeed’s mouth go dry. There’s a shift in the air, a light growing brighter up ahead around a curve in the tunnel.  
  
“Cavern ahead,” Kasumi whispers. “Life signs. At least six. Several of them are-” A howl echoes through the rock walls, repeated several times by multiple sources.  
  
“-varren,” Garrus finishes for her. “My favorite.”  
  
The tunnel finishes out as it curves to the right. From where they’re crouching, they have a good view looking down into the pit. There’s a gentle slope downwards that opens up to a large cavern at least 600 meters long, 200 meters wide and 100 meters high. A cliff runs the length of it about at the center, at least 20 meters high. Several large mining machines used to remove rock sit abandoned in various stages along the bottom edge, speaking to the workers and their hasty retreat from this place. Along the left wall are quite a few crates stacked several high, a couple field tents pitched close together, and more crates towards the rear. Scattered spots of dim lighting cast long shadows into the corners and the place echoes of dripping water and lost sound.  
  
There’s a brief moment of almost silence. He holds his breath, ears straining for any noise that might give away Ingrid’s location, comes up with nothing. Neither does his HUD. Correction. The HUD comes up with many things. None of them good: four heat signatures in the form of varren heading directly toward them, two turrets popping up below them at the base of the slope and one on the ridge above them, on their right flank. Shit kinda all goes to hell.  
  
He finds Paxton’s heat signature to his left and pushes him back into the tunnel, hoping the kid has enough sense to stay there. “Kasumi, overload the turret at ten. Zee-grenades.” Garrus shouts, running for what little cover there is underneath the high turret. The varren are charging up the small hill, all towards Zaeed. He throws his grenade at the turret, and then aims one in the middle of the small pack but overthrows. The varren barely seem to notice the small explosion behind them.  
  
“Trying to get their tails?” Garrus asks. The first turret explodes in a shower of sparks.  
  
“Wanted them to run at me fucking faster.” He backs up a little into the tunnel entrance, trying to get out of the line of sight of the turret above them. It has the added benefit of making him hard to see to the remaining turret below as well. One of the varren howls and that puts him on edge more than anything, the way they’re heading toward him with singular purpose.  
  
“Kasumi, where you at?”  
  
“Behind the turret, ready on your mark.”  
  
“Zee, on your one. Mark.”  
  
He quits firing on the varren for a brief moment to shoot his concussive shot at the turret. It explodes in a shower of sparks and shrapnel. “Paxton, help with these varren, would ya?”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
Between the two of them they dispatch the varren and none too soon. He can see the glisten of saliva in their teeth, they’re that close. Paxton lands a headshot and Zaeed grunts in approval. “Nice, Pax.”  
  
Paxton grins under his helmet, but he notes the slight tremor in his hands. Lucky shot then.  
  
“If you two are done playing, we could use some help with this last turret,” Garrus says.  
  
“Christ, you’re bossy.” He nods at Paxton to take cover again around the corner. When he’s satisfied the boy is in place, he rounds the bend. Maybe the new armor has him cocky, absorbing so much more firepower than the old one had. Maybe his head isn’t in the game, occupied with thoughts of Ingrid and if she’s in this cavern somewhere and of the boy and that small tremble of his fingers. Maybe it’s just his day. Maybe it doesn’t really matter why, just that the turret rocket hits its mark, sends him flying backwards to land on his ass and skid over the rough floor with a grunt. He feels the impact, the heat dispersing through his shield, the fizz-pop of energy as it absorbs, the flash of light in his visor.  
  
He hears Paxton yell, “Dad!” and wants to tell him to stay back and hug him for that one word all at once, but before he can do either it’s lights out for Zaeed Massani.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Battle Cards: I imagine this is somewhere between Magic; The Gathering and baseball cards only with dead soldiers, weapons, ships, battlegrounds, et cetera printed on them. Heroes and soldiers who die gloriously in battle are worth more, whereas those who die shameful deaths are those cards that no one wants. Cards are passed down from generation to generation, so it’s likely Garrus’ father passed the Nul Quint card on to him because there was no other way to get rid of it. Sneaky dad.
> 
> To all of you subscribers, commenters, and hitters of kudo buttons: your encouragement is very...um...encouraging? Thank ye kindly!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a nice little chat with Vido. Fun. Right?

There’s a distinctive tang of eezo in the air. Along with the putrid stink of varren guts. The dank mustiness of underground. Zaeed tastes the copper of blood from where he must have bitten his tongue. He feels like he’s been run over by a Mako; doesn’t like that feeling at all. Feels three gloved Turian fingers push the hair back off his forehead; does like that one however.  
  
Zaeed groans, blinks his eyes open. His mate leans over him, helmet off, concern in his blue eyes, mandibles spreading in a smile. He takes a moment to survey the damage in his body, finds nothing too concerning other than the fact that he’s flat on his back. “So the new armor works,” he says, voice gruff with dust. He feels the slight stickiness of the medigel where it had dispersed beneath his armor, especially his lower back.  
  
Garrus huffs softly and nods. Normally he’d have an irreverent joke, something to level out the insanity. He must have been given a fright if he’s not saying much. Seeing his mate tossed back like a rag doll by an exploding missile probably had something to do with that. Zaeed captures the hand close by, holds on like his life depends on it.  
  
“Everyone okay?” Everyone meaning Garrus. Everyone meaning everyone. He looks around, sees they’ve pulled him back beyond the opening of the tunnel past the curve into relative safety. Paxton kneels next to him, worried and fretting, his hands in fists.  
  
“The man gets blown twenty meters by a rocket and asks if everyone else is alright,” Kasumi peers over her shoulder from where she's crouched down keeping an eye on the tunnel entrance. “I’m disappointed. You’ve been hanging around Shepard too much.”  
  
He grunts, nods to Garrus to help him up. “Sorry. I won’t do it again.” He gets up slowly, testing his legs.  Garrus pulls him into an awkward embrace, armor clanking together. Warm mouth plates nuzzle in the curve of his neck. “Hey-” he says softly.  
  
“Just for a moment, I thought…” Garrus takes a shuddering breath. “I’m so glad I talked you into getting rid of that old armor.”  
  
He laughs and gently pushes him away. “Is this where I tell you that you were right?” Without a word Garrus hands him his helmet, visor cracked in a spiderweb pattern with small pieces hanging loose. Seeing it, he feels a breath heave in his chest. No way in hell would his old helmet have been in one piece. Or his skull underneath. He surveys the damage inside, HUD fried, power gone. Small price to pay really. “Yeah, okay. You were right.”  
  
“Damn straight.” His mate leans forward, briefly touches his crest to Zaeed’s forehead. “You get that for posterity, Kasumi?”  
  
“Video and audio,” she says brightly. “Sending them to you now. I recommend the audio for a ringtone.”  
  
Zaeed laughs and pushes him away. “Assho-”  
  
“No sexy talk on a mission,” Garrus chides.  
  
He clips the helmet to his belt and looks down at Paxton, so close he’s nearly attached to his leg. Still a bit stiff from the rocket toss, he takes a knee and the boy has his arms wrapped around his neck before he can say anything. He blinks in surprise but hugs him back. “Alright?” Paxton’s call as he was sent flying still rings in his ears. But he's not going to make it A Thing. Wait for the boy to say it again, then maybe make A Thing.  
  
Paxton nods once, trills quietly in his subharmonics and lets him go, stepping back. His face is a mask of somberness, stoically holding himself together. Zaeed sighs. Boy’s gonna need some talk time once they get through all this.  
  
Kasumi’s omnitool is out as she taps away. “I hate to remind everyone, but-”  
  
“Yeah,” he stands, grunting again from stiffness in his back. He'll be paying for that one for a couple days.  
  
Kasumi crowds them together, shows them her omnitool, making sure Paxton can see as well. The large cavern is mapped out and she points to several bright spots, life signs that are showing up on her scans. "This person on the left is alone, and since I've been tracking hasn't moved more than ten meters from that field tent." She points to what could be a small group, huddled at the far end. "These have barely moved at all. They're in the far back corner of this twenty meter ledge that runs all along the right side."  
  
"You think that's where she might be?" Garrus asks  
  
She shrugs. "It's likely. If-"  
  
"Yeah," Zaeed interrupts her. "We know 'if'." He peers closer at the map. There are about seven dots all along the left wall and down the center along the ledge that she's highlighted in red. "What are these spots here?"  
  
"Hm, well. That's where it gets interesting. If you like to call things that go ‘boom’ interesting. And I know you do. I’m pretty sure those are explosives of some sort. I’m getting a fairly high eezo reading. I need to get a closer look to see if they're activated or what exactly. My guess is they are. They're set up at strategic spots, enough to cause a cave in, maybe bring the whole thing down depending on what sort of payload we’re talking."  
  
A chill settles in Zaeed's spine. A suspicion resurfaces that he'd had once they’d figured out where those earlier bombs had come from. Vido is a desperate man, on the run without much outside support to speak of, driven to desperate measures. He swipes a hand over his face. "Fucker's gonna try and bring it all down on our heads. Maybe himself included." Garrus shoots him a look, eyes wide.  
  
Kasumi nods. "That would be my assessment as well."  
  
He points back at the solitary figure. "Vido?"  
  
"Presumably."  
  
He nods. "How much time do you need to get around to all those? Disarm if they need to be disarmed?"  
  
She shrugs again. "Depends. I'll know more once I get to the first one here," she points to a spot at the base of the ramp on the left of the cavern.  
  
Garrus hasn't stopped watching him, eyes bright. "What are you thinking?"  
  
It's Zaeed's turn to shrug and he makes it as casual as he can. "Gonna go have a little chat with our friend.” He wishes he felt as confident as he hopes he makes it sound.  
  
~~~~~  
  
Garrus takes up cover behind the least destroyed turret. He scouts through his scope at the lone figure. “Looks like him. S’weird though. He’s just sitting there. He knows we’re here. Turrets exploding would be a dead giveaway. But he just sits there. Damn. Krogans fed him well at least. He’s gained a few.”  
  
Zaeed snickered. “Always seemed the sort to get a gut given the chance.” He nods at Paxton, who waits just at Garrus’ heel. There’s a monstrous loader halfway down along the ledge towards Vido he can get behind, within range of his pistol in case he’s needed. But he’s under strict orders to not move until told. Zaeed hopes the boy will obey.  
  
They wait for word from Kasumi. Neither he nor Garrus are too thrilled to proceed without knowing more about these explosives set up in the cavern. It’s only a few minutes, but it seems like several hours that they wait crouched down behind the turret. At least Kasumi has good news when she lets them know she’s found the first bomb. “Lots of explody stuff. Fairly new from the looks of it. No timer. Remote detonator. I’ve disabled this one.”  
  
Garrus gives a small huff. “‘Explody stuff’ would be the technical term?”  
  
“It would. I’m going to check inside those tents since I’m going behind them anyway.”  
  
“Roger that.” Zaeed stands, gives Garrus a small look. He leans down and bumps his forehead briefly to his crest. “Well, here goes nothing.” His mate gives him a nod, his eyes worried, but he returns his attention to his scope.  
  
In the books he sometimes reads, cowboys and cowgirls out on the range in the wild west-wrangling cattle and camping out around fires at night-wear their guns in holsters at their hip. Easy to hand should they be needed. Some wear two, one for each hand. Some practice long hours learning to draw their gun as quickly as possible. They’re always there, those holsters with their six-shooters. He’s carried his guns for so long on his back, is able to grab his sniper rifle, switch out to pistol in two short, quick movements so that it’s like breathing, unconscious and life-sustaining. But he thinks sometimes of those holsters, how having his guns right there at his fingertips might be a bit easier, a bit more intimidating than hiding his guns on his back. He doesn’t need confidence, but a bit more threat never hurt anyone except the unfortunate party on the receiving end. Walking towards Vido out in the open, he wishes he had those holsters on his hips.  
  
He has his hands down at his sides, open and facing outward. Just here for a friendly chat. Two men who hate each other and want to rip each other’s throats out. His ears strain for any sound that might be Ingrid, but the cavern is too big, echoes too much, swallowing sound before sending it back. He stamps down the urge to yell her name. She couldn’t answer anyway, signing at no one close by who cared. His jaw is tight, teeth clenched as he focuses in on Vido.  
  
The bastard has brought a small campstool out and is still sitting there as Garrus had described, not even in armor. Just waiting. Watching. He has something in his hand, but it’s not a gun. He can’t see what it might be, but he has a feeling he already knows what it is. _Creature of habit, our Vido._  
  
“In position,” Paxton whispers in his ear through the comms.  
  
“Nothing in the tents except some empty crates. There's one in the second tent that looks...weird though. Lid is open.” Kasumi says a moment later. “Heading for second bomb.”  
  
He’s disappointed at the lack of finding Ingrid close by, but it’s not unexpected. It was too much to hope that Vido would keep her near.  
  
He’s even with the first field tent, scans the area. “Mako at my one,” he says quietly. “Not much else.”  
  
“Moving up,” Garrus says, heading for the roof of the giant loader where Paxton is. Right where one of the bombs just happens to be. But it gives him better vantage point since the first field tent partially blocks his view.  
  
He takes a breath and keeps moving, stone crunching under his boots. He can see the bastard’s smirk now, the way he leans casually forward on his knee. He wants to punch that smug fucker from here into next week.  
  
“You’re early,” Vido doesn’t have to shout. He’s close enough now, ten meters away. He’s close enough to smell whatever had been warmed up on the small camp stove he sees standing off to the side. It makes his stomach turn. Vido always did eat the most horrendous shite. “Got a few tricks up your sleeve, old friend.”  
  
“Surprise.”  
  
“In position,” Garrus whispers through the comm in his ear.  
  
“Brought a couple Turians with you, I see.”  
  
“The more the merrier.”  
  
Vido laughs, fiddles with the small device in his hand. “The more for me to kill, more like.”  
  
His lips twists into a snarl. “Stop fucking around and tell me where she is.”  
  
The other man shakes his head, tutting. “Never figured you for a family man, Zaeed. Guess old dogs can learn new tricks after all. ‘Course, getting fucked regularly by that Turian probably helps. How big is his dick? You like it when he shoves it-”  
  
“Tell me where the fuck my girl is,” he grinds the words out and they feel like rocks in his mouth. He nearly takes a step forward, fists clenched, resisting the urge to draw his pistol and shoot the fucker. Instead he takes a deep breath, focuses on the mission.   
  
“Second bomb disabled,” Kasumi says quietly.  
  
Vido sighs and shakes his head. “I’m disappointed, Massani. You had a good thing going. I almost felt proud of you. That day I shot you and left you for dead, I gave birth to you. You won’t admit it, but it’s true. You woke up with that scar and those implants and it turned you into a whole new man. I gave you a purpose you’d never had before.”  
  
“Revenge is not purpose-”  
  
“Ah, no.” Vido shakes his finger at him, tutting like an old auntie. “For some people, maybe. But you. You made it your life, finding me. And you made a good living in the meantime to fund your attempts to get close to me. You think putting me down is going to complete you somehow? Round things out and tie it all up with a nice little bow?”  
  
“If you had left my girl alone, left my goddamn family alone, and stayed in that fucking prison like a good, little criminal I wouldn’t have had to chase you down. Again.”  
  
“But that’s where you have things backwards, Massani. You see, you left me with nothing. Blue Suns is gone, swallowed up by that bitch. All my soldiers deserted me. Except a few loyal ones. Gelo being one of them. I assume you killed her on Omega.” He shook his head. “She was smart. Set up all my tech for me. Found a use for those old bombs. She was better than good. The best. A loyal hacker is hard to find. But she didn’t use her head, thinking she could grab that little Turian shit you have hanging around.” Vido stood, parting the jacket he wore. Zaeed could see underneath then. He isn’t going to fat. He's wearing a suicide vest, his chest lined with explosives.  
  
He swallows down a brief moment of panic, takes a small breath to calm himself. _Keep the bastard talking._ “Word has it she was more than just your hacker-”  
  
“I should have guessed you’d find that out too. Yeah, well. What can I say? She loved her some Vido dick.”  
  
His stomach does a turn at the thought, bitter bile threatening at the back of his throat.  
  
“You’ve left me with little options, old friend. Didn’t like that Krogan prison one bit. Gelo was kind enough to spring me. But when you’ve built your whole life around something that’s been destroyed, all your finances and resources gone, things look a bit grim. I’m tired. Tired of you chasing me, dogging my every move. You gave me an easy lure, laid her out like a piece of candy. She’s a cute little thing-”  
  
“Stop your fucking yammering and tell me where-” He took a step forward then, unable to stop himself.  
  
Vido held the device in his hand out towards Zaeed. “-but she’s annoying as hell. All that boo-hooing. Had to keep her sedated.”  
  
“Third bomb disabled.” Kasumi’s voice over the comm makes him pause. He's having a harder time keeping his temper under control. _Focus on the mission._  
  
“Gelo wanted to just get rid of her, sell her off to some pirates. Could have gotten a nice price for her, too. All that pretty blond hair.” Vido shakes his finger. “But I said ‘No’. Because when I bring this cave down, I want to bring it down on everything you care about.” He waved his head off towards Garrus’ direction. “Your sweet Turian lover, that cute little boy. And your precious baby girl. I want you to die knowing you have nothing left. I’ll wipe them all away and Zaeed Massani will go the way of the dodo bird and the polar bear. Extinct with no one to remember you or care you’re gone.”  
  
“And yourself as well, I presume.”  
  
Vido nods with a shrug. “So few people are willing to commit the whole way. For revenge to be fully complete, you must be willing to sacrifice your own life.”  
  
“Suicide fits you. You’re a fucking coward. You’ve lived a coward’s life, hiding behind Blue Suns. Always looking over your shoulder to see if I was catching up to you. What does it matter if I live or die? Kill yourself, I don’t give a shit. Tell me where my girl is and we’ll get out of your hair. You can blow yourself up nice and proper.”  
  
“Fourth bomb disarmed,” Kasumi said over the comms. “There’s a lift back here for taking ore to the surface. Not clear if it works or not.”  
  
“Paxton,” Garrus’ voice is a quiet warning in his ear, “what the hell are you doing? Get back to position.”  
  
“Zaeed,” Vido is chastising him, “suicide is the ultimate act of bravery. There’s no failsafe on this det. I push the button-” he clicked the lid open, revealing a single red button underneath. He pressed down on it and Zaeed’s heart stopped. “Ten seconds after release, this whole cavern comes down on your fucking head-”  
  
“Paxton!” Garrus’ voice has taken on a desperate edge when he calls out the second time.  
  
Shit happens. Things he’s not prepared for and he so desperately wants to rewind time the moment they occur. Without his helmet, he doesn’t know where Paxton is. He should have known the boy would do something hot headed and impulsive. He sees the orange flash of the boy’s omniblade as the air behind Vido shimmers and Paxton is there, yelling for Ingrid. He can’t blame him, even with disaster so close. He thinks he probably would have done the same thing. The very same stupid, hot-headed thing. Won’t stop him from the dope slap to the back of the head or from grounding the boy for a year once this is all over (if they somehow manage to survive). Won’t stop him from hugging him either. All of that. He’ll do all of that if they manage to climb out of whatever rubble they find themselves under.  
  
He hears Garrus swear in his ear and echoes the sentiment in his head. Vido turns slightly, surprised by the boy’s sudden appearance behind him. Zaeed is too far away to stop whatever Paxton thinks he’s going to do with that blade, but he makes a run for it anyway, a mad spurt of energy driving his boots over the loose gravel. The knife flashes for a moment as Paxton puts all his force behind thrusting it into Vido’s lower back. The jarring movement makes him drop the detonator. The button is released and a mental clock starts in his head. Ten seconds. Ten seconds to run like hell’s hounds are after him. Ten seconds to get everyone to the Mako. Ten seconds to live.  
  
He uses his momentum to grab at and pull on Paxton’s armor, hauling him backwards. “Mako! Run! Now!” He pushes at the boy, knowing Turian physiology was built for these short bursts of speed. He turns his head a fraction, sees the blur of dark blue of Garrus’ armor behind him as he jumps down off the truck and runs for the Mako’s open hatch. “Kasumi!” He doesn’t know where she is, can only prepare her for the worse. “Brace for impact!” He looks back off towards where Vido had been. The man is speeding off towards the tent, stripping the jacket and vest off as he goes. _Goddamn fucker. What's he up to?_  
  
Halfway there and he’s feeling time speeding and he wishes so hard it wouldn’t. Five seconds. At most there’s fives seconds left. Paxton is on his left, slightly ahead. His boots want to skid on the gravel, don’t allow him the purchase he needs to really get his feet going. Each second wants to escape more quickly than the last even though everything else seems to be slowing down.  
  
Three seconds. There won’t be enough time to get the hatch closed, he realizes. But the tank should protect them from the debris, even if it gets tossed around like a dog’s chew toy. Paxton lands on the small ramp, turns at the door. He sees him yell something but all he knows is he’s not going to make it and where the fuck is Garrus anyway-  
  
Then he feels that welcome body behind him, one arm grappling him in a strong embrace. "Got you." He kicks his feet up and allows Garrus’ strength and speed to propel them forward into the small opening. Their bodies land in a crunch of armor against the inside wall and he barely has time to breath before the Mako is being tossed and a loud explosion is reverberating through the cavern. There’s a smaller secondary explosion that shakes the air in a concussive blast, tilts the Mako over onto it's side.  
  
Maybe. He thinks. He hopes. Maybe they’ll survive this shit storm after all.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting our girl back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a bit of a warning: there's some gorey minor character death stuff towards the end of this chapter.

The Mako rights itself with a stomach - lurching crash like a goddamn Weeble and rocks gently for a moment until it settles in place. Zaeed's head is pounding, a pain that builds in the back of his skull. He feels around, fingers finding his hair matted and sticky with blood. A cloud of thick dust chokes the air, gritty on his tongue and in his eyes.  
  
He straightens out, his foot hitting something that gives slightly. He cranes his neck and sees Paxton, unconscious with a smear of blue blood across half his face. Turian blood really is blue-sky blue, he thinks groggily. Garrus groans, somewhere close to the front of the vehicle. He sits up slowly, his spine popping in protest, moves closer to Pax. He feels for a pulse, relieved to find one strong and fast under his fingertip.  
  
"Zee?"  
  
"Here."  
  
There's thumping from the front as Garrus rights himself and peeks over the front seat. "Paxton?"  
  
"One idiot child, present and accounted for. Unconscious, but alive. Too bad for him. I’m going to kill him when he wakes up."  
  
Garrus shakes his head while he crawls over the seat and moves towards the back. "It's my fault. I should have stopped him." He looks down in concern and kneels. "His mandible looks like it might be broken."  
  
"Thought that didn't look right." He searches under the seat for a med kit and miraculously finds one secured where it should be. "And it's not your fault. It is what it is."  
  
Garrus takes the kit and goes about getting Paxton's jaw wrapped up. Zaeed hits his comm, "Kasumi? Tell me you're out there alive."  
  
There's a groan in his ear. "Alive, yes. Feel a bit like a Krogan used me for pyjack bait. The back end of the cavern is still fairly stable though. Everyone okay? You all in the Mako?"  
  
"Yeah." Garrus presses a cloth against the back of his head to staunch the bleeding, takes his hand and presses it there for him to hold. "Garrus is on med duty. Paxton is out for the moment. We’re all alive.”  
  
“I can see the Mako. You’re half-buried under rock.”  
  
He looks around to find the back hatch blocked by rubble. But the Mako's front window only has a layer of dust and debris that's halfway sliding off. "Shit we got lucky." Lucky no one was thrown out of it when it went tumbling end over end, and that's just for starters. "Any sign of Vido?"  
  
"No. But I'm not really feeling up to digging through the mountain of rubble over there where he had been."  
  
"Asshole had some trick up his sleeve. He went running off towards the tent."  
  
“We should check, just to be sure.” Garrus mutters under his breath.  
  
He nods, but they have other priorities. “You still seeing those life signs at the back, Kasumi?” _Please. Be there. Be alive._  
  
“Still there.” She pauses and he feels the heavy weight of it, lets her finish. “I might...hm. I thought I heard something, but-”  
  
“We need to get the hell outta here,” Zaeed feels his heart race a little at the desperation. He’s never driven a Mako. Doesn’t even know where to start.  
  
“I could drive us out,” Garrus offers. He’s packing away the rest of the medigel and bandages, closing up the kit.  
  
His eyebrows raise in surprise. Would his mate’s abilities find no end? “You know how to drive this thing?”  
  
“Well-”  
  
Oh. So it’s like that. “You don’t know how to drive this thing.”  
  
“Shepard-”  
  
“I’ve witnessed Shepard’s driving abilities in the Hammerhead. If he taught you, I’d rather take my chances trying to bust out the fucking window and crawl through jagged glass.”  
  
Garrus gives him one of his exasperated looks. “He didn’t teach me. I watched him.”  
  
“Oh. Well. That makes it so much goddamn better.”  
  
“Just settle down.”  
  
Zaeed doesn't have a chance to answer. Paxton groans as he wakes and tries to sit. "Alright, just keep your ass down, Pax. You've managed to do enough damage for the day. Don't need to mess yourself up as well."  
  
"What-" He tries to speak but it comes out as a mumble, impeded by the bandage.  
  
Garrus holds his hand back from trying to pull the cloth aside. "Just take it easy. Your mandible might be broken."  
  
He looks up at them, concern and uncertainty in his eyes. Zaeed leans down.  "How you feeling? Anything else hurt? Check yourself over."  
  
Paxton shakes his head. "No. I don’t think so. Just-my head hurts."  
  
"Good. Because I'm going to kick your ass from here into next year-"  
  
"Zee." Garrus' voice is a warning. Which he ignores.  
  
He has to ask, "The hell were you doing? You could have killed us all, you little fu-"  
  
"Zaeed Gregor Massani!" Garrus pulls at him. "Not the time."  
  
Paxton looks about ready to cry, he can hear the quiet keen in his subvocals. "Alright. Alright! No need to get all bossy with the middle names." He shrugs off the Turian’s fingers. Paxton mumbles something under his breath that he can't quite understand. "What did you just say?" The words come out angrier than he intends, snapping because of the danger they’ve all just managed to escape.  
  
"Someone had to break the cycle." The words slur together through the bandage, but he understands well enough and it makes him fall back on his heels. He had expected lip and sass and defiance. telling an old man to go to hell. He had not expected...this. Shit. Fucking goddamn shit. Since when did this child start paying attention to him?  
  
“What does that mean?” Garrus asks.  
  
A short and sweet answer would be convenient. A short and sweet answer would be that he’s an ass, not giving credit to the boy for paying attention to his old war stories. Stories he tells unthinkingly, second nature when he finds an ear to fill the words up with. He looks down at Paxton, his heart wants to burst from pride and fear and amazement. He doesn’t break eye contact with those worried gray ones. “I’ll tell ya later-”  
  
“Hey, guys!” Kasumi breaks in over the comm, desperation in her voice. “I’ve got movement! Someone’s climbing up the rubble. On foot-”  
  
“Shit. Vido. Keep tracking him, Kasumi!”  
  
“On it.”  
  
Garrus helps Paxton stand and waves towards one of the jump seats. “Helmet on, I think. You might have a concussion and that will keep your head from moving around too much.” He turns to Zaeed, “Help me get him secured. Shepard’s problem,” he continues as Zaeed secures Paxton’s helmet and snaps the safety harness around him, “was his heavy foot. And his love of hitting the thrusters at the crest of a mountain. He always wanted to be there _now_ , he didn’t understand the Mako was made to climb over anything, even up a nearly vertical cliff wall if necessary. The thrusters are for softening the blow of rough terrain, not for floating down the side of a mountain in order to snap all the passengers’ necks upon landing.” He pats Zaeed’s cheek gently and moves to the front, settling himself in the driver’s seat.  
  
Zaeed takes the seat next to Paxton, strapping himself in tightly. “Is there a barf bucket in here?”  
  
Garrus flips a few switches. “Let’s see if it even starts first, then you can worry about barf.” The engine whines briefly as it warms up. “Oh yeah, come on, baby.” He grins widely as he turns a crank, flips another switch and the engine sputters to life. It coughs a few times, but settles into a low thrum as it idles.  
  
The hydraulic wheels try to bounce, but only the front end is able to and the movement makes Zaeed’s stomach lurch. “Worried about barf now.”  
  
Garrus waves a distracted hand at him, his foot on the gas pedal. “Okie, now. Apply gentle pressure-”  
  
“Shit!” The Mako lurches forward in a jerk, disturbing more grit, rocks falling from the back as it clears the debris. Paxton groans as he’s tossed side-to-side. Zaeed reaches out to help hold the boy stable, but he’s more concerned about the cavern’s solid rock wall that’s speeding towards them. “Garrus!”  
  
“On it!” He slams the breaks, but not before the Mako hits the wall and bounces back, bringing the machine to a rocking halt. “Spirits! Well! That was...not what I was expecting.”  
  
Zaeed can’t help but cough up a hysterical laugh. This day just gets more and more disastrous. They’ll be lucky to make it out of this fucking cavern in whole pieces.  
  
He hears Kasumi’s soft steps as she leaps aboard. “I guess you had personal issues with the hatch? Wrong color, perhaps?” She gives Paxton a small smile and a squeeze on his shoulder before settling herself into a seat and securing the belts. She’s covered in a thin layer of dust with a few scratches here and there, but otherwise seems to be in one piece.  
  
Zaeed cranes his neck, sees the back end gaping wide open with no hatch in sight. He grunts and nods towards Garrus. “Ask him. He’s driving. If that’s what you want to call it.”  
  
“Watch your mouth or you’ll be getting out and pushing,” Garrus manages to maneuver the Mako around so that it’s pointing towards the mound of rubble that now leads to the upper level. He’s getting more and more frustrated as the tank jerks first backwards, then forwards. He cranks the wheel, huffing under his breath and Zaeed chuckles as he catches some choice swears.  
  
“What was that about Shepard’s problem, love?” Garrus doesn’t break concentration from driving, but he does quickly flip his middle finger back at him in a learned human gesture. “Hey now. That’s just goddamn rude.”  
  
“You really do want to get out and push, don’t you.” His mandibles are tight, words ground out at a clip. The Mako starts to climb the mound, getting stuck several times on what Zaeed thinks are pretty small rocks to stop such a persistent tank. He judiciously withholds comment, concentrating more on controlling the rolling of his stomach than bickering with his spouse.  
  
The Mako eventually levels out somewhat and Garrus guns it over the relatively smooth surface towards the rear of the cavern. There’s movement in the Mako’s headlights. Several chained varren surge towards them, and a man, standing with his back to them, fiddling with the lock of a cage. “Zee!”  
  
“That fucker-” He should have known. Vido always was a lying asshole. He’s bruised and bleeding, favoring his right leg, right arm tucked in against his side with a copious amount of blood seeping through his clothes from where Paxton had plunge his omniblade in. How had he survived that blast, how had he gotten up here so quickly? It doesn’t matter. Only that he did.  
  
Garrus brings the Mako to a skidding halt. Kasumi stands, helping Paxton get free of his restraints. Zaeed unbuckles quickly. “Alright, Pax?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“You stay the fuck back. Understood? No more heroics.” He takes half a second to look him in the eye, sees the nod and that’s good enough for him. He’s out the door, not bothering with being quiet. Rushing from the Mako with Garrus at his six, shooting the varren in a rapid-fire burst. Headshots, all of them. He turns his sights on Vido. “Should have known you were goddamn lying-” He wonders if the suicide vest even had active bombs on it in the first place.  
  
“You really think I’m going to kill myself? Jesus, Massani. Can’t believe you fell for that.”  
  
“Wishful thinking.” He’s tempted to shoot, but he needs to know for certain: where is Ingrid?  
  
“I should have known you’d have some sneaky asshole along, undoing all my good deeds. Only cowards hide behind a cloak.” Vido Santiago turns and Zaeed catches a glimpse of a tiny body in a dirt-smudged yellow sundress crouched in the corner of the cage behind him. He sees her body shake and his heart surges. She’s alive. And then-  
  
“Papa…” His heart stops. Starts again, pushing blood through his body so fast that he can’t even think. Talking. She’s talking, her soft words drifting on the air. “Daddy?” _...blue-sky blue...candy-apple red…_ For a moment, he’s back in the dream, lost in the non-reality of it all. The floor wants to rush up to meet him and he stumbles back, regains his sense of where gravity is at.  
  
“Here, sweetheart,” Garrus says behind him. “We’re here.”  
  
Vido smirks. “So fucking sweet.” He pushes open the cage door open and starts to lean down, fingers grasping for Ingrid’s leg.  
  
No fucking way in hell. He raises his rifle, no compunction about shooting that fucker in the back before he can get his hands on her again. But before he’s able to even fire, his little girl is glowing goddamn blue and she screams, a shrill piercing in the air that sends a shiver through his entire body. Vido is pushed away in an uncontrolled biotic wave of energy. Her shriek is almost physical, but it’s the biotic wave that knocks him back. It knocks them all back, cage rattling before it splits apart, pieces flinging every which way as well. He skids as he hits the rocky ground, rifle tossed away from him. “Shit-”  
  
“Papa! Pax’on!” Ingrid’s screech is shrill in his ears. He sees Kasumi materialize next to the crying child and grab her up, then both of them disappear in a shimmer, Kasumi’s cloak covering them both.  
  
“It’s okay, Ingrid,” he calls out. He stands, feeling a sharp stab of pain in his ankle and then the cooling medigel dispersal from his suit. He takes a few limping steps towards his rifle. Garrus is already on a knee, his own rifle pointed at the writhing Vido. “We got you. Stay with Kasumi and Pax.” He reaches to pick up the rifle and it falls in pieces from his fingers, blown apart by Ingrid’s biotic blast.  
  
He has the urge to laugh. His tiny warrior. Shit. Life is gonna get even more interesting.  
  
“Zee.” Garrus is holding out his own pistol towards him, intent clear. Finish this. Finish him.  
  
He nods and takes it, approaching his former partner who’s attempting to crawl backwards across the ground, elbows digging in to pull his useless ass along.  
  
Vido laughs, “That was unexpected.”  
  
Zaeed stands over him, surveying the pitiful excuse of a man below him. He’s beyond any sort of remorse for what he’s about to do. One step and his boot lands heavily on Vido’s ankle, holding him in place. He aims the pistol at Vido’s knee, “You can fuck with me all you want-” He shoots the knee out, ignoring Vido’s screams as he aims for the other knee, “You can fuck with Garrus all you want-” He shoots that knee out as well.  
  
“Goddamnfuck! Massani!”  
  
He aims for the hand that’s grasping for a rifle not far off on Vido’s left. “But you fuck with my goddamn kids-” he shoots the hand, noticing in the back of his mind the splatter pattern of blood, how Vido writhes, attempting to twist in on himself, prevented by Zaeed holding him in place, “-and I will fucking destroy you. I will wipe you from existence.” He aims for Vido’s head, feels the tension in the trigger as he slowly squeezes. “Interesting, innit? Don’t need anyone to hold _you_ down.” He remembers the hands that held him when their positions were reversed, the desperate feel of having that gun in his face. And the look in Vido’s eye: blank, detached. As if killing his business partner were just another job.  
  
For a moment he thinks Vido is crying and it sickens him even more. But the shoulders shake, harder and harder as Vido tries to curl himself in tight. Blood pools on the ground below him, soaking through his clothes, running in a trickle towards Zaeed’s other boot. He notices then that the noise that shakes Vido isn’t crying. He’s laughing. Wild, hysterical laughter that nearly drowns out the sound of Ingrid’s agonized sobbing. “You really think you can have a normal life? Look at yourself. Zaeed Massani,” he gasps, “is a fucking killer. Not a family man-”  
  
“Don’t really care what a dead man thinks.”  
  
“Zaeed-” Vido’s eyes widen through the pain as Zaeed’s intent registers. He hopes his hatred is clear on his face. He wants that to be the last thing Vido sees.  
  
“Don’t fuck with my kids.” Zaeed fires and Vido’s head splits open. “Tired of your bullshit,” he says to the lifeless body. He takes it all in; the gore curls his lip as he forces himself to look. He’s pretty certain Vido never did this to him 25 years ago. Never stopped to make sure the body was really just a body with no lurking consciousness waiting for an opportune moment to reassert itself. He needs to make absolutely sure he’s not going to be tormented by this man anymore. Even if that means staring at the mangled corpse before him.  
  
Satisfied, he turns and walks away, helps Garrus stand. Paxton and Kasumi and Ingrid are crouched together in a huddle. Ingrid still crying from shock, she stretches her arms towards him and he reaches down and lifts her gently. She latches on, arms and legs as tight as she can on his armor like she’ll never let go. “Hey, little duck.” He hugs her right back, feels his breath catch as she cries, choking on uncontrollable tears. Garrus’ arms are around them both, trying to not smash the girl between them with their hard armors. They coo and murmur to her, all three heads together. His hands shake as he holds her, adrenaline and shock and relief surging through him. His throat burns, his head aches. His eyes blink away dampness.  
  
She quiets slowly, hiccoughing at them, looking at them in wonder. He grins at her, stupid with relief. “Hey there…” He presses his forehead to hers, closes his eyes. In that moment, his heart opens and he allows himself to hope again.  
  
“Papa?”  
  
“Yeah.” He pulls back, looks at her, adoring her in her bravery.  
  
“Daddy?”  
  
Garrus grins, presses his crest to her forehead for a moment. “Hi, sweetheart. I’m so happy to see you.”  
  
She reaches out, climbs into Garrus’ arms. Zaeed sighs and catches Kasumi’s eye. He nods at her and she nods back, smiling like a fool, her dirty face streaked with silent tears.  
  
“Pax’on?” Ingrid asks with a hiccough, looking around for her brother.  
  
Garrus sits down on the ground, Ingrid cradled in his lap and Paxton surges forward, catching them both in a hug. Zaeed falls to his knees next to them all, exhaustion claiming his body as if nothing else had been holding it up besides pure, cantankerous will power. Kasumi kneels down with them, all of them admiring the small girl who touches them all in turn as if to make sure they’re all there surrounding her, needing the contact of people who love her.  
  
None of them comment, point out that she’s talking. But Zaeed is fairly certain they’re all thinking, wondering. Marveling at it. Marveling at the biotic power that surged from this small body. There will be plenty of time to think about all of that later. It’s enough for now to just be.  
  
~~~~~  
  
In the end, they need to use the Mako’s engine to power the lift. Garrus expresses his regret at having to leave it behind on the cavern floor. “I was just starting to get the hang of it.” He leans over slightly, watching it disappear beneath them.  
  
“Maybe the Council can requisition you one-” Kasumi says brightly.  
  
“Don’t put those thoughts in his head.” Zaeed’s chiding is half-hearted. He adjusts his hold of Ingrid, her nose pressed into his neck.  
  
Paxton groans softly, clutching at his jaw, distracting Garrus from all thoughts of how to justify a Mako. They’d found a couple air filter masks in one of the Mako’s compartments for Zaeed and Ingrid. Garrus, Paxton, and Kasumi had put back on their own helmets and filter mask respectively. They all look like war refugees emerging from a bunker, smudged and dirty and half put together. But grinning at each other like fools, glad to be alive.  
  
It’s still a hike back to the _Comet_. His ankle is throbbing, his back feels like an elcor tried to turn him into a pancake. He’ll be all shades of black and blue tomorrow. He doesn’t care. They have their girl back. The boy is safe. They’re all safe.  
  
For this moment, all is right with the world. Or as right as Zaeed Massani’s world is going to get at any rate.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is safe, though a bit bruised and battered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up doing a pretty big rewrite on this chapter because _some people_ who shall remain nameless were big smut pests. So there's smutty xenophilia smuts in here. Also this chapter went way long, so there's that.

Shepard finds them at Huerta Memorial several hours after they return to the Citadel. Paxton had just been wheeled away for a scan, a caution because of his head injuries. Zaeed and Garrus are camped out next to Ingrid’s bed. Garrus is talking to Liara via his omnitool, getting updates about Vido’s hideout while Zaeed tries to keep Ingrid from pulling out her IV. She’s malnourished and dehydrated, confined to this hospital bed for several days and he thinks they’ll be lucky if she doesn’t turn the goddamn place upside down trying to escape.  
  
“Ingrid, we need you to be brave. You can’t take the IV out.”  
  
She looks at the offending needle, her face smudged with tears. He does his best to wipe them away, but a continuous stream just replaces them. “Hurts, Papa,” and then she signs, _“Take it out.”_  
  
“No, my girl. It will help you feel better-” Movement at the door catches his eye and he looks up to see Shepard lurking, concern in his eyes as he watches the trio. Zaeed nods to him before he looks back down. “I know you can be brave.”  
  
Garrus stands, shutting down his omnitool. “Shepard. Didn’t expect to see you here. Come in.”  
  
Shepard eyes the empty bed on the other side of the room. “Paxton okay?”  
  
“He had a pretty good bang to the head so they’ve taken him for a scan, just double checking he doesn’t have any permanent damage.”  
  
Their former commander takes Ingrid’s hand and smiles at her. She gives him the stink-eye, as if he’s there to prod and poke her like all the other adults who have been in to see her. “I’m relieved everyone came out in one piece. How long will the kids need to stay in the hospital?”  
  
“They think Paxton could be released tomorrow as long as they don’t find anything. He’s still at risk of a concussion, but he can rest at home.” Garrus pauses and checks his omnitool as it pings at him. “Ingrid needs to be here for a couple days. They want to make sure there aren’t any complications with the dehydration.”  
  
“Do you have somewhere to stay? And before you answer, I already know you don’t and that you’d have to go to a hotel. So one of the reasons I’m here is to tell you that my apartment is yours. Kaidan is off on a mission and won’t be back for a week at least. I’m heading over there to make sure there’s food in the pantry. Then I’m going back to Vancouver. And I know you know how to get past the security systems, so I’m not even going to bother with giving you the codes.” Garrus smirks at Zaeed and winks and Zaeed smirks back, lifting an eyebrow.  
  
But something Shepard said makes him wonder. “What’s the other reason?”  
  
The other man opens his omnitool. “I have some news. About the adoption. There’s been a...hiccough. Because of the abduction, and because you took Paxton into a dangerous environment-” he holds up a finger at Zaeed, cutting him off from the objection that is forming on his lips, “-and yes, I gave permission, and yes, I know you brought both children back safely. But there’s going to be a hearing on the matter in a couple weeks. Don’t-” the finger is directed at Garrus this time as the Turian opens his mouth “-freak out. I’m on this. But you’ll both need to make statements and if Kasumi could be there as a witness that would be even better.” He taps at his omnitool, sending them both messages. “In the meantime, both of you relax and let me do what I do best.”  
  
“Strong-arming everyone into doing what you want them to do?” Garrus grins at him.  
  
“Smartass. And yes. But don’t tell people that. I’m gently cajoling. Not strong-arming.” He sighs and looks Garrus over. “You guys look tired. Try and tag team at least. I’d offer to help, but I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t let me. Whatever you need at the apartment, just use it.” He moves to go, Zaeed noting that his limp is still there, but so much better than it had been, not even needing the cane that's been a constant companion for the last few years. Shepard stops at the door and turns back. “You know, I never imagined last Christmas that you four would become so inseparable. I think Paxton and Ingrid are about the luckiest kids I’ve ever met. You two as dads are kinda formidable. And scary.” He looks over at Ingrid, whose eyes are drooping as she tries not to fall to sleep. “I pity whoever she starts dating.”  
  
Garrus groans-“Shepard...”-and Zaeed’s eyes widen. _Holy fucking shit._ Things that hadn’t even crossed his mind yet. He looks down at her, her tiny hand in his. She yawns so big he can see her tonsils, her eyes finally closing, long lashes resting on her cheeks, lower lip puffing out in a pout. No. No way in hell. He’ll keep everyone off with a shotgun if he has to.  
  
~~~~~  
  
Two days later, Zaeed holds a sleepy Ingrid as Garrus hacks into Shepard’s apartment only to have the door open from the inside by Kasumi. “You could have knocked or something.”  
  
“It’s more fun to break in,” Garrus says as they enter. “A fact which I’m pretty sure you know all too well.”  
  
“No comment. Paxton! They’re here!” She yells up the stairs. A thud is heard from the upstairs guest bedroom, followed by the stamping of feet as Paxton runs from the room down the back stairs, taking them two at a time.  
  
Zaeed frowns at the boy as he skids to a halt in front of them. “Pretty sure that’s not what the doctor meant when he said ‘take it easy’ and ‘bedrest’.”  
  
“I’m bored! Shepard’s video games suck. And Kasumi won’t play _Star Avengers_ with me so I’m stuck farming resources, which is dumb because supposedly there’s a timer on the virus, but-”  
  
“Alright, alright. Jesus. Take a god-a breath. Did Kasumi make you dinner?”  
  
Paxton nods and pokes at one of Ingrid’s bare feet, playing with her big toe between his fingers. “But I want hot chocolate.”  
  
Garrus grins and nuzzles Ingrid’s cheek. “I’ll get that for him. You take Ingrid to bed.”  
  
“Right.” He turns to find Kasumi behind him. “You get that message from Shepard?”  
  
“I did. I’ll be there. With bells on.”  
  
“You don’t have to-”  
  
“I’ve told you before, idiot. I want to. Whatever needs to be done for you to keep the kids, I’ll do. Stop acting like it’s inconvenient.” She steps closer and leans up to brush her lips across his undamaged cheek in a chaste kiss. “I’ll see you later.” She kisses Ingrid’s cheek as well, whispering to her. “Bye, little duck.”  
  
“Bye, ‘Sumi.” She signs it as well, _“See you.”_  
  
“Bye, guys!” The words are no sooner out of her mouth before Paxton comes barreling from the kitchen-Zaeed growling at him to slow down-to give her a hug. The force of it shows on her face, both delighted and a little bit in pain as he squeezes too hard. When she hugs him back just as hard, Zaeed shakes his head.  
  
"Thanks for the babysitting," he says, heading for the stairs. "Let me know what I owe you."  
  
"You can't afford me, Massani."  
  
"Don’t I goddamn know it."  
  
The kid’s only been at the apartment for a day, but his crap is spread from one end of the upstairs guest room to the other. _Star Avengers_ pulses away in pause on the vid screen so he shuts that down and cleans things up a bit while Ingrid brushes her teeth and gets ready for bed. Garrus had gone out and purchased a couple sets of clothes for her, but Zaeed realizes he had forgotten any sleepwear. He rummages through the tshirts in Shepard's closet and comes up with one from the bottom of the pile that has a dancing Krogan on it saying, _"My tummy tingles for Tuchanka Sauce!"_  
  
Shepard will never get the tshirt back. Ingrid’s face lights up when she sees it. “Grunt!”  
  
“Yup. Put it on, duck.” She does, but continues to look at it upside down as she follows him to the unused side of the bed. “In ya go.” He dims the lights, enough so that Paxton can find his way when he comes back up.  
  
She climbs in between the sheets and he tucks her in. He sits next to her and leans down, kisses her soft cheek, his own rough with a day’s growth of beard. “You’re safe here,” he murmurs in her ear. “I’m here. Garrus is here. Paxton is here. And tomorrow we'll go home and you can sleep in your own bed. Sound good?”  
  
_“Is that bad man dead?’_  
  
He’s still marveling that she’s talking, and then to have her sign that nearly kills him. He feels something coil in the pit of his gut, wondering if she had seen him fire the gun, had seen Vido's brains splatter over the ground. He strokes back her hair again, blond curls tangling on his fingers. “Yeah. He’s dead. He can’t hurt you any more. Ready to sleep?"  
  
Tiny shoulders move in an exaggerated shrug.  
  
"Hey, little duck. Have I told you how godda-...how proud I am of you?"  
  
She looks up, big blue eyes wide and focused on him.  
  
"I love you, Ingrid,” he whispers.  
  
"I love you too, Papa." She does not whisper. He swallows down the lump in his throat and takes a steadying breath.  
  
“Paxton will be here soon. Want me to stay while you fall asleep?”  
  
She nods and scoots over to make room for him to lay down next to her on top of the covers. He smooths her hair back again, blond hair in tangles. She sighs, moving her fingers to a silent _Itsy Bitsy Spider_ , mouthing the words of the song. He watches her, feeling stretched thin. Beyond exhaustion.  
  
He hadn’t left the hospital, even though Garrus had threatened to remove him with a crowbar. Not that he didn’t trust Garrus. Not that he didn’t trust the hospital. He didn’t trust himself to not return to Khar’Shan and find Vido’s body, bury it deep in the rock after breaking the body apart with the shovel. So he stayed by her, remembering the gore, barely sleeping, watching the life come slowly back to her eyes, marking the bruising on her arms as they darkened and turned color. His vigil at her side was selfishly for his own sanity, Garrus and Paxton outlying players at her bedside. His mate seemed to understand, bringing food and a change of clothes so he could get out of his armor. It was Garrus that took Paxton to Shepard’s apartment that first day, and Garrus who contacted Kasumi to help look after him. And it was Garrus who told him that Liara had sent a team to Vido’s hideout and what they had found: the crate he had hid in during the explosion, the rest of the trap he hadn’t had time to set up because they’d found him early, the vest that had had the dummy explosives. It made him feel a little bit better, that they had gotten the best of Vido before they’d even entered the mine. But his heart still ached as he watched Ingrid in the hospital bed.  
  
As it still aches now.  
  
Her eyes slowly shut and he can hear her breath, little movements of air in and out of her nose. He knows only the exhaustion in his bones as his own eyes close.  
  
~~~~~  
  
**2157-Zaeed, age 21**  
**Omega**  
  
Turned out the galaxy was a big place, sometimes big enough to run away from the ghosts that chased him. It was a bit of a wonder, really. Within eight years the lives of every human had changed, his own most assuredly. He stepped off the transport ship, crossing the gangway onto the deck of Omega. He took one look and was amazed he’d gone from one shithole to another. Some things didn’t change apparently.  
  
He’d heard there was work on Omega, rumors of bounties to be collected, merc gangs that were hiring. Jobs that could hopefully propel him out among the stars. He hadn’t taken well to military life, had been discharged from the Alliance after three months by mutual agreement from all parties. And a good thing too, considering he’d heard his former company had been sent off into the middle of the First Contact War. But the lure of what lay beyond Sol System was too powerful. He had nothing to hold him to Earth, no ties whatsoever and that was probably for the best.  
  
He found the market easily enough, his new translator ticking through the languages it found and heard all around him. His eyes scanned over the guns for sale on a display rack, all used and beat to shit. Some looking like they needed to be crushed for scrap metal more than anything. Two guns caught his eye: a Turian-made Equalizer sniper rifle that seemed to be in good repair, and an Alliance M-8 Avenger that had more than a few scars on her already, but seemed to be in one piece as far as he could tell. The Avenger he knew, had been issued one as a not-so-shiny recruit. But he’d heard good things about the Equalizer, didn’t give a shit if it was made by a species they were currently at war with. He had a healthy respect for, and secret interest in, the tall and angular Turians. They made good weapons. And they were easy on the eyes.  
  
He pointed to both guns and the Batarian (he shuddered slightly-gods they were fucking ugly and he couldn’t for the life of him tell male from female) brought them down, laid them out on the counter for Zaeed to inspect. There were no prices on either and he figured-rightly, it turned out-the Batarian would try to take advantage of him, figuring him to be a gullible human. Both guns were in decent shape, the Equalizer more so. His credit supply definitely wasn’t endless, but it would allow him to get one or the other provided he could dicker the merchant down a bit. He settled on the Avenger since it was familiar and more versatile, with plans to come back later for a sniper rifle once he’d taken a job or two.  
  
The transfer of credits for the gun and some ammo left his reserves more depleted than he’d wished. Not much left for hardly anything. At least he already had armor, even if it was third-hand and a bit too stiff for his liking. He wasn’t worried about finding food or a place to sleep for a night or two until he found work. Spending his teen years living on the streets took care of any squeamishness about hunkering down in whatever dry corner he could find.  
  
He skulked through the back streets of Omega, getting his bearings. He avoided the bars because they were generally death traps waiting to happen. One called AfterLife seemed especially abhorrent, but then he found a back entrance in that the idiots lining up at the front door didn’t seem to know about. He pulled a couple of the most desperate and wealthy looking humans aside when the bouncer’s attention was elsewhere and they paid him a good amount of credits for him to lead them back there through the maze of Omega’s back alleys. Just the once. No need to push his luck. It wasn’t enough credits to return for the Equalizer, but it was enough to ease the pressure a bit.  
  
The rifle rested in its maglock just over his shoulder blade. He liked the feel of it there, an added weight of reassurance that let him know he wasn’t completely on his own. If Jessie were here...But she wouldn’t be, would she? He wouldn’t have let her follow him here. He would have made her stay, kept her in school until she finished. She’d be fifteen and teenage-awkward and beautiful and just thinking that made him ache a bit, made him long for a past he knew was useless to wish after. His past would never change. He would never see his sister again. She would always be six and her brown hair would always be long and fine and she would always be stuffing cake into her cheeks and grinning at him. Maybe that was for the best. Maybe.  
  
Still, he couldn’t help thinking that she would have loved it here, rank and dirty though it was. She would have loved all the new species (Zaeed would have bet money that the Elcor would have become a new obsession, that she would probably start talking like them which would annoy the everloving shit out of him), hearing new languages, just being able to travel somewhere that on the day either one of them were born no human had any clue about. As he walked, he could almost feel her tripping on his heels, chattering about that Batarian over there or that Salarian sitting there or what kind of food does he think they’d find to eat and would it kill them? (With curiosity: how do we know unless we try?) He stifled a smirk, stopping in front of a dark alley.  
  
“C’mon, Jessie,” he muttered, beginning the search to find somewhere to bed down for the night.  
  
Maybe some ghosts weren’t so easily outrun after all.  
  
\-----  
  
**Present Day**  
  
He smells him, in the hazy dream he's having. He’s fresh and clean, spicy with musk. And then he's there, purring at him, waking him slowly. Zaeed blinks. His eyes feel like they've been taken out, rolled in sand and put back in. Someone has also driven a spike through one side of his head judging by the sharp stabbing pain in his temple. And his arm is asleep, sharp prickles of pain radiating upward from his fingers.  
  
"...time is it?” he whispers.  
  
"A couple hours passed the time for you to go take a shower,” Garrus whispers back. “You kind of...stink like the underside of a Krogan."  
  
He gets up slowly, careful to not disturb Ingrid. He can hear running water in the bathroom, Paxton humming to himself as he gets ready for bed. "Say it with love."  
  
"You kind of stink like the underside of a Krogan, love." Garrus pulls him the rest of the way to his feet and guides him toward the door. "Go on. I've got this."  
  
He drops his clothes in a trail to the bathroom in the downstairs guest room, groaning when he removes his boots. His ankle is still stiff, slightly bruised, but otherwise none the worse for wear. His back, on the other hand, feels like someone tried to pull out his spine starting at his tail bone. He heaves his shirt off in a controlled jerk and groans again, just because he can. He lets the hot water wash over his sore muscles. He forgets time for a while, cranks up the hot water, exhaustion in every single cell of his body. He turns, lets the water pound his aching back. His mind drifts, nearly falling asleep again as he rests his forehead on the cool tile. His head snaps up when he hears the distinctive steps of his mate as he enters the bathroom.  
  
The shower is shut off and a towel draped around his shoulders. "Come to bed."  
  
"Kids?"  
  
"Both asleep." Strong fingers rub the towel over him, drying his hair quickly, tugging him towards the bed. Garrus shuts lights off as he goes so that there’s only the dim light that sneaks under the door, just enough for him to make it to the bed and fall onto it with a huff of breath after Garrus pulls the sheets back.  
  
It’s like marshmallow fluff under his weary body and he stretches aching muscles, rolling to his side so that when Garrus tucks himself in behind he can wrap him gently in his arms. His mind drifts, running through all the events of the past week in a whirl of flashing images. He wishes he could have stopped Paxton before he’d thrust that omniblade into Vido. Because now the kid has to live with that: knowing he had caused a chain of events and being lucky that none of them were killed because of it. Being even luckier Garrus had only taken away his omnitool for two months and not permanently like Zaeed had grumbled he should. And even luckier that Zaeed hadn’t grounded him in perpetuity for reasons mostly that a twenty-seven year old Turian living at home with a curfew and tracking device on his omnitool was just...sad.  
  
Garrus’ brain must have been on the same topic. “Pax told me what he meant, in the Mako. When you asked what he thought he was doing. He told me the story you told him. About Vido. The cycle of revenge.”  
  
Zaeed grunts. “What I want to know is when that damned kid started listening to me?”  
  
There’s a flicker of movement on the back of his neck, Garrus’ mandibles twitching as he says, “I don’t think you realize how much he idolizes you. He’s been paying attention this whole time, Zee.’  
  
He doesn’t know what to say to that, brain stuttering over the words. Why? What did he do to warrant the respect of a twelve year old Tuian kid with a chip on his shoulder and a fiercely protective streak for a little human foundling? He hadn’t set out to make the kid like him, hadn’t even really expected that they’d get along what with Paxton’s penchant for running away from previous foster homes. He thought back to that first night they’d stayed with them, serving the kid up some dextro chocolate milk from Garrus’ stash, the conversation they’d had at the kitchen table. Perhaps it was little things like that: taking him seriously rather than treating him like a child, showing him respect, allowing him to be and grow and watch all the old black and white movies he wanted while still holding him within parameters that didn’t let him run amok. How is he supposed to know how to raise a Turian? He’s just making it all up as he goes along.  
  
He deflects from Garrus’ comment, sighing just a little. "You know I would have done the same bloody thing myself if it had been me."  
  
He's given a kiss on his shoulder. "Me too."  
  
"...family full of hot heads..."  
  
"And a tiny, powerhouse biotic."  
  
Zaeed turns in his mate's arms, presses his nose in along the hard carapace. "We're in for so much goddamn trouble with that girl."  
  
"Like you'd have it any other way."  
  
He huffs a tired laugh. "Probably right about that."  
  
Garrus shifts his arms around him, drawing him closer. They lay in silence for a moment, until Garrus hums on his forehead, fingers pressing into his sore back. "Ah, shit-love-"  
  
"Sorry. Didn't you get an medigel on that?"  
  
"Just what the suit released. Still hurts like a sonofabitch."  
  
“Sleeping in a chair for two days certainly didn’t help.” He's released as his mate rolls away. "On your stomach, you stubborn asshole."  
  
“Mmn, sexy talk.” But he does as he's told, too tired to argue. Garrus settles over him, straddling his hips. Cool gel pools at the base of his spine and then Garrus is spreading it over his back, half-massaging the medigel into his sore muscles. They're both quiet, the only sound of Garrus' fingers sliding over his skin, the long exhaling breaths from Zaeed.  
  
"So, this idea of yours." Zaeed says after a while. His back feels better, but he's not going to tell his Turian to stop.  
  
"My idea?"  
  
"Living on the ship..."  
  
"Oh. That idea." He shifts around and slides back down to the bed.  
  
"I think we should do it."  
  
Three Turian fingers card through his damp hair, smoothing it back off his face. He feels the intensity of those blue eyes as they search over his features. Wonders what gears turned in the Universe to create this Turian, and what gears turned further to allow for him to have this amazing Turian for his mate. He returns to his side so he can be face-to-face with him. He sees the small flick of his mandibles, presses himself close up along the warm hide. Garrus' arms and legs wrap around him, removing any remaining air between them.  
  
"I'd need to requisition a larger ship." Garrus says into his hair, whisper soft words sending a shiver down his spine.  
  
"Hm."  
  
"There would probably be room in a cargo bay for a Mako..."  
  
Zaeed groans low in his throat. "Kodiak would be more practical."  
  
His mate's chest rises and falls in an exaggerated sigh of disappointment. "Hammerhead?"  
  
"Oh hell no. Those things make my stomach want to commit suicide."  
  
Garrus' laugh reverberates through his body, a staccato drum in his muscles and bones. His fingers card through his hair and Zaeed feels a tightening in his chest from the tenderness of the gesture. "You know, I've been wondering something." He hears the query in his mate’s subvocals.  
  
"How Kasumi can drink that weird tea shit she drinks? Because that stuff is rank-"  
  
"No. Not that. Although it has crossed my mind." He shifts his arms and rolls to his back, bringing Zaeed along for the ride to lay half on him. They take a moment to readjust legs and arms and butts, settling together in what is a familiar position. "I've noticed you have this strange habit of not saying 'no' to me. I know you're not the sort of person to just readily agree to whatever is suggested."  
  
"I say 'no' to you."  
  
"Hardly ever."  
  
"Maybe we're just thinking on the same wavelength. Despite the fact that we're two different species, raised in two vastly different worlds, we freakishly have a lot in common."  
  
Garrus doesn't answer for a moment, looks up at the ceiling. "That's true. But you're evading."  
  
It’s not like Garrus is pointing out something that he himself doesn’t know. And it’s not that he set out a personal goal of letting Garrus have or do whatever he wanted. He looks up and sees the scarred mandible, the roughened hide, the colony markings that Garrus has never bothered to have repainted. “Spent the last thirty years having my life be all about me. Ever since Jessie died.” He pauses a moment to swallow down the thickening in his throat. “Gets a bit boring, only having yourself to worry about. Kinda nice to think about someone else for a change. Want to make sure you’re happy. Getting what you want from life. And so far, you haven’t really asked for anything that I find unreasonable. So it’s not like I’m going out of my way.”  
  
There’s more shifting of the body underneath him so Garrus can look him in the eye, Zaeed nearly propped up on his chest. He reaches out and rubs a talon over the scar on his chin, tracing up to his lips and across. Zaeed opens his mouth and captures the talon and part of the thumb, sucking briefly, tasting sweet and bitter Turian hide before releasing it with a grin. Garrus’ eyes sparkle with amusement. “So, BASE jumping?”  
  
“Had always wanted to try it.”  
  
His voice pitches lower, rumbles in his chest. “The first time I asked to be inside you?”  
  
“Pretty fucking sure you’ve figured out by now I’ll do anything you want in bed as long as it doesn’t involve piss or shit. Or handcuffs.”  
  
“Lovely image.” Garrus pauses for a moment. “Kids?”  
  
“Wouldn’t have said ‘yes’ if I hadn’t wanted.”  
  
“You didn’t let me put the pink Christmas tree on the dining room table.”  
  
“I let you keep it, even though it’s hideous. And you got to decorate the apartment however you wanted, meaning complete Christmas insanity, otherwise.”  
  
Garrus hums with pleasure. He had so much fun with those Christmas lights. “True. So...Mako?”  
  
“Look at me saying ‘no.’”  
  
Garrus chuckles, briefly lipping his way over Zaeed's forehead. "Paxton could learn to fly the Kodiak-"  
  
"Yeah. In about ten years."  
  
"Two."  
  
"Eight."  
  
"You were supposed to say five. And then I would say four and you'd say 'Done'."  
  
"Oh, is that how this works? And he'd be sixteen. Most kids can't even learn to drive a car on Earth when they're sixteen."  
  
"Turians develop faster." His voice rumbles in his chest, humor in his subharmonics.  
  
"So you keep telling me. And yet I sometimes have to wonder if you aren't about twelve yourself."  
  
"If I'm twelve...what does that make you?"  
  
"In goddamn prison. Fortunately for both of us that's not the case," he props himself up and kisses him, swiping his tongue over Garrus' plates before delving in deeper when his mate opens to him. Garrus moans, subharmonics trilling, grasping him closer. They're both panting a little when Zaeed finally breaks away, feeling himself harden between their pressed bodies. He smirks at his mate. "You know what we've never had?"  
  
"Tacos?"  
  
"No. I've had those. I said 'we'." He slides his lips down Garrus' neck, breathing in his scent.  
  
"Well I’ve never h-" He pauses, silence in the room as Zaeed licks the rough hide of his shoulder. "Uh...what was the question?" Zaeed huffs a laugh, brushing his lips along the edge of his carapace. "I can't...think...when you do...that..."  
  
He's not sure where this second wind is coming from. Could be the backrub. Or the shower. Maybe it’s just lying in bed with his mate, breathing in the spiced musk scent of him having spent the last week doing everything _but_ manhandling each other. Regardless of its source, he's more than willing to go along with it, creating a bit of friction against Garrus' leg on his half-hard dick. "We've never had post-battle sex." He answers his own question, his hand sliding down to firmly squeeze his mate's boney waist. "And that's a goddamn shame."  
  
He's flipped over onto his back, boxed in by strong arms and legs, blinking in surprise at the sudden movement. His mate is looking down at him in that way that makes his lizard brain swim to the top of his consciousness. That way that makes him want to grapple something-or actually someone specific-and hang on until he's been fucked senseless. He'd never had that urge before Garrus; never wanted to yield to someone else's will, never wanted to be claimed with musk and teeth or held down with talons. Never wanted to claim that person as his own either, shout to the galaxy: _this one is mine, get your fucking hands off._  
  
He can see in his mate's eyes that his lizard brain-or whatever qualifies for the same on Palaven-has reared it's head as well. He has that particular predatory look, his teeth bared slightly, the delicate ridges of his nose wrinkling as he scents the air. Zaeed's pulse speeds, knowing this night will end with fresh teeth marks on him somewhere. He doesn’t look forward to the pain, but he does look forward to the gleam in Garrus’ eyes when he’ll catch sight of the mark later.  
  
His heart stutters as Garrus dips closer, brushing up his chest with his nose, warm puffs of air raising his gooseflesh, nipples tightening in anticipation.  
  
"That is a goddamn shame," Garrus whispers in his ear, nipping delicately at his lobe with his mouth. “Perhaps we’ll be able to do that. In the future.” Hot breath whiffs across his neck. “I look forward to it, in fact.”  
  
He’d also, before Garrus, never really considered that the sex he’d engaged in had been ‘making love’. He’d enjoyed it, had initiated it on too many occasions to count with varying degrees of success and fulfillment, had considered himself somewhat learned on the subject matter across various species. But it had never been like this: so goddamn erotic with each of them determined that the other be satisfied, full of a passion he’s certain he wants to never see the end of. Sex before had always been somewhat selfish, even though he’d always made sure his partner got off. Ultimately it had been more about him. But this. This is so different. So much better. So much more satisfying. Sex with Garrus is always, has always been since the first, about more than just sex.  
  
“How’s the back?” Garrus asks, light flicks of his mandibles on Zaeed’s skin make him shiver and groan. He reaches down between them, playing lightly with the ridges of Garrus’ pelvic plates. The joins are slickened, loose under his fingertips.  
  
“Good enough.”  
  
“Hm. Good.”  
  
His Turian rubs his crest down his neck to his nape, releasing a strong whiff of bonding musk and Zaeed’s dick responds on its own, conditioned by the scent. It never fails to make him lightheaded, breathless on a mist of intoxicant as it fills his lungs, his thoughts heady with desire and longing and need. “Hng. Garrus.”  
  
“Tell me.” His crest is on his chest, leaving a streak of oil that his mate rubs in with fingertips, circling over and around first one nipple and then the other until they harden, an answer to an unspoken question. He feels the plates at his own fingers shift before his hand is captured by one of Garrus’. First one and then the other and he’s spread-eagled on the bed with Garrus kissing him, tongue and sharp needles of teeth and unyielding mouth plates that he has always tried his hardest to get to move the way he wants. Zaeed knows his cock is dripping precum by then. He gives himself over to his mate in a way he has never done with anyone before Garrus; relinquishing control because he trusts, because he loves, because he is loved in return.  
  
“Please. Want you. Garrus.” He whispers the request against the mouth that devours him, the long tongue swallowing his words down as he gasps ragged breaths, hearing the rough edge to his voice, the request verging on a prayer. “My love.” Two words together he never uses unless it’s just the two of them, skin on hide, air from their lungs mingling between them, feet sliding down taut muscled legs, dulled talons scraping over soft flesh. Two words together he has never uttered before Garrus.  
  
“Yes, Zee.”  
  
His hands are released. He’s quick to touch hardened hide and carapace as Garrus pulls him in tight, cradling him in his strong arms, cock against spreading plates as he bumps over the slickened tip, feeling his lover is so nearly, nearly there. “Yeah. Fuck. Gimme your cock.”  
  
Garrus groans. More than a groan. A trill. A subharmonic whirl. A rumble deep in his chest followed by a gasp and he feels that magnificent cock slide free, crossing with his own as Garrus rocks his hips, his mouth at the warmth of his shoulder, tongue lapping at his collar bone. “You know,” Garrus says as he kisses his way down Zaeed’s arm, “Shepard and Kaidan either have sex in all these beds or they expect their guests to fuck like...um...rodents-”  
  
“-rabbits-”  
  
“-rabbits. There’s lube in every room. Even over by the fireplace.” He gets up slowly on his knees, reaching over to the bedside table drawer. “I took the one from upstairs. Paxton would probably have used it to polish his armor or something.”  
  
“So we have plenty?”  
  
“Well, this is the only dual-chirality one I could find.” He pulls a small bottle out. “So-”  
  
“Maybe put it to good use.” He jerks his hips up, his dick tapping on Garrus’ leg. He’s suddenly feels a pressing urgency, missing the body that had been against his, wanting to be filled with his Turian.  
  
“I’m getting to it. Hold on, mister impatient.” The cap snicks open, liquid pooling in Garrus’ palm. It’s more for Zaeed’s convenience as he slicks the man’s cock, taking his time to stroke with firm, determined fingers, then stroking down his perineum to rub over his hole, pressing in with the pad of his finger so gently.  
  
“Goddamn tease.”  
  
“Just making sure you're paying attention.”  
  
He grins, grasping onto the blue cock that juts out proudly, curved up like it's reaching for something. “I am. Are you?”  
  
That stops him for a moment, freezing him in place as he looms over him. “Yeah, I...uh-”  
  
“Pretty easily distracted, you ask me.” He strokes slowly, aided by Garrus’ own natural lubrication, rubs his thumb just on the underside against sensitive nerves.  
  
“Well, I've got this hand with too many fingers on my dick. It's way too soft and way too small and, mnn, it feels too damned good. So,” he leans down, grinning at him, “yeah, you could say I'm distracted.”  
  
He loves this. The flirtation, the easy conversation even while hands are on dicks and hearts are beating faster, the fun they have while making each other crazy with hunger. He also loves the give and take, the way it passes from one to the other like slipstream over wings - just enough force to keep them up in the air, gentle enough to not even notice. He wraps his legs around Garrus’ hips, tugs him down against him. “Well, focus, goddamnit. Want you in me.”  
  
“Since you ask so nicely-”  
  
“I didn't.”  
  
“Irony. That was irony.” He kisses him again, rubbing his hips in the confined space of Zaeed's thighs. “Next lesson: spacial recognition and hand-eye coordination.”  
  
He tightens his legs, feels the tip of Garrus’ warm dick on his ass. He groans at that, so goddamn close. “Get to it, then.”  
  
He does, slowly, eyes locked with his until Zaeed closes his own from the pressure, the pleasure of having him inside. The urgency is gone and he wants to take their time, wants his bond mate to build them up and take them down again and again until they know nothing but their two bodies and the heat they create. “Go slow,” he whispers. “Make it last-”  
  
“Hurry up. Slow down. Make up your mind.” He purrs as he complains, nestling his mouth in the crook of Zaeed's neck.  
  
“I just told you.” He bites at his shoulder, which does nothing but get a rumble of pleasure in return.  
  
“Perhaps you would like to dictate pace? Beats per minute? Pressure per square centimeter?”  
  
“Maybe you should just shut your mouth and fuck me.”  
  
“Maybe I should just roll over and go to sleep-”  
  
“Maybe I should just get myself off-”  
  
He's given a nip, right on his collarbone where Garrus had been lapping at earlier with his rough tongue. “Maybe I need to watch while you do that.” His subharmonics trill with yearning as he sweetens the spot. “Tell you to slow down, speed up,” he starts moving, so slow, almost too slow, but the movements have ownership over him, enslaving him to the rhythm. “Tell you how to stroke your cock. Rub the tip. Smear precum.” He licks between each thought, his voice rumbling with sex and suggestion. “Push back the hoodie-”  
  
“-foreskin-”  
  
“-hoodie.” A nip to punctuate. Enforcer of misnaming things. “Watch you spurt-” he thrusts forcefully to emphasize the word.  
  
“Hng. Garrus.”  
  
“-your cum.”  
  
“Maybe we should,” he gasps when he thrusts a bit harder, sets a faster pace, “uh...keep this in mind for next time. Fucking...sexy as hell…”  
  
“Agreed. Along with post-battle sex.” He pants a little, warm breath on wet skin raising gooseflesh on Zaeed's shoulder and down his back, nipples hard as pebbles. Garrus gathers him to his chest, arms wrapping around him, thrusting hard as he sinks his teeth in and rolls them to their sides, and Zaeed doesn't know anything anymore besides his mate and the tear of pain that pulls at him, the warm arms tight around him, the cock that hits sensitive nerves and makes him moan, makes his toes curl, makes him so goddamn glad to be alive.  
  
~~~~~  
  
Her shrill scream pulls him up from the deep pit of sleep he'd sunk into, sends a shock of protective parental instinct through him so that he's pushed Garrus off him and is standing on the floor even before he's awake. He’s nearly to the door when his mate's voice registers.  
  
"Zee. Stop. Pants."  
  
He skids to a halt and turns to grab something to put on when he’s hit in the face with a pair of his own fatigues. “Thanks.”  
  
“Anytime. They really don’t need to see that.” Garrus nods at the man’s inked penis, pulling on his own trousers. “You’ll scar the kids for life.”  
  
He smirks, yanks on the pants. “Probably true.” He groans a bit, muscles sore-the good sore, the been fucked to within an inch of his life sore-and shoulder aching from the fresh bite. Ingrid is still screeching bloody murder and he can hear Paxton yelling for them both. He palms the door, speeding up the stairs with Garrus on his heels.  
  
Ingrid stands on the bed enveloped in a blue biotic aura, Shepard's tshirt down to her knees. Paxton is trying to calm her, but she looks beyond hysterics, shrinking away from him in blind terror. “Papa-” She launches herself at him when they come in the door, catches some air before landing in his arms and holding on in a vice-like grip, crying into his shoulder. Garrus trills to her, a comforting hand on her back and she calms somewhat but still trembles, still cries in gulps of gasping air.  
  
“Hey, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” Zaeed’s body tingles from the contact with her biotics, but he smooths down her wild curls, holding her gently. He turns a questioning eye to Paxton who looks anxious and stressed.  
  
“Bad dream, I think?”  
  
He nods. “Not surprising, really. You okay?”  
  
Paxton shrugs, still watching Ingrid. “That's really freaky.”  
  
“Yeah.” He rocks side-to-side while Garrus hums to her, rubbing her back and talking nonsense to her. She quiets a little, sobbing in hiccoughs, her chest rising and falling in gasps. He passes her over to Garrus and goes to the bathroom to wet a cloth. When he returns Garrus is sitting on the bed and he and Paxton are both purring to her and it makes Zaeed catch his breath a little, how loved this tiny girl is, how precious she's become. Paxton takes the cloth from his hand and dabs at her eyes, wiping her forehead so that her curls are pushed back, damp and sticking straight up.  
  
Ingrid’s entire body trembles, shivering as if she's freezing. She looks at him with her big, blue eyes. Searching for answers to questions she doesn't know how to ask. She crawls back onto his lap when he sits down next to them, her blue aura dissipating as she calms.  
  
“Have a bad dream?”  
  
She nods, her fingers searching for a button to twist, so he takes her hand and holds it, kisses her tiny fingers.  
  
“Want to tell me?”  
  
She pauses for a moment, considering, blinking at him. She shakes her head once.  
  
“Want to tell Paxton?”  
  
She looks over her shoulder to her brother, but shakes her head to that idea as well.  
  
“Tell Daddy?” That gets a head shake too, even though she looks at Garrus for a long moment first.  
  
“Alright. You tell us when you’re ready. Want to watch a vid?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
They all scoot around on the bed, Zaeed and Garrus propped on the headboard. Ingrid has a tight hold on him and it makes it hard to maneuver, but they manage to all end up in a big clump of arms and legs with blankets piled on top. And then Ingrid whispers to him that she's hungry, so Garrus sets off to the kitchen to find a protein bar for her.  
  
“Alright. Pax. How about put on one of those animal shows you’ve been watching.” They settle back on the bed, adjusting pillows and getting comfortable. Paxton transfers a vid to the omniscreen, a program about a bobcat learning to survive in winter that captures the children’s attention, the soothing tone of the narrator lulling them all. Ingrid turns and leans back on his chest, Paxton leaning into his side.  
  
Garrus returns with several protein bars and climbs in to join the dog pile, pulling covers up over them all. “What are we watching?” He snakes his arm around Zaeed’s shoulders, Paxton climbing over Zaeed to settle between them-more or less on their laps rather than on the bed.  
  
“Bobcats,” Paxton says.  
  
“Ah.” Garrus nuzzles Zaeed’s hair. “Cats named Bob. How human.”  
  
Paxton gives Garrus a look, his nose sniffing the air briefly before he sees the fresh mark on Zaeed’s shoulder and he rolls his eyes. Still he looks pleased, even when Garrus cuffs him lightly on the back of his head.  
  
Zaeed shakes his head. Turians and their noses. He smirks and turns to wink at his mate. Garrus kisses him, a quick peck on his lips that turns into something a bit longer and deeper than he probably intended. He purrs low in his chest and it’s as if he’s a magnet, drawing all of them closer to lean on him. Turian arms somehow manage to wrap around them all.  
  
For this moment anyway, they’re all safe and Zaeed will take that in spades. They can worry about other things tomorrow. There’s almost too much spinning through his head: the adoption and the forthcoming hearing, Bekenstein, a new ship and crew for Garrus, raising two kids on a ship and how that’s going to work, how to raise a biotic and keep her from blowing a ship apart. His brain feels like a whirlpool and he’s too tired to try and stop the thoughts as they circle, just lets them be carried around and around. Vido raises his ugly mug in the middle of all that, but he pushes the dead man aside. He has too much to live for to think about the past.  
  
He looks over at Garrus and his thoughts slow and settle. Amazing how he can do that just by being at his side. There hasn’t been a moment since they’ve been together that he doesn’t feel a bit in awe at how Garrus seems to have taken it all in stride-Zaeed’s interest in him, his desire to be together even before Zaeed was willing to acknowledge it himself, their bonding as if it were the most natural and logical thing for either of them. And now kids that seem to have fallen out of the sky into their laps like they belong there. All of it is a bit unreal, full of chaos and a luck that he doesn’t believe in.  
  
“What?” Garrus sees his mismatched eyes examining him, gives a curious glance back.  
  
Zaeed shrugs, a bit embarrassed. “I love you.” He says it because life is too short and uncertain not to. He says it because it’s true.  
  
Ingrid tips her head back, her attention drawn away from the screen to their conversation. Paxton, seeing her move, follows her gaze up at them. Okay, so now they have an audience. That’s just fucking great.  
  
Garrus’ mandibles twitch and he smiles. “That’s good. I love you too.” He’s given a brief nuzzle on the new mark at his shoulder and because Garrus is Garrus, heart open and full to bursting, he turns his attention to the children. He pokes Paxton and Ingrid in turn. “And you. I love you, and you too.”  
  
Paxton twists around to let Garrus bump crests and the boy grins broadly, subharmonics trilling between them. Then he turns to Zaeed, expectation in his eyes. He doesn’t hesitate, lets his forehead rest on the boy’s crest for a moment, grins a crooked grin back at him. And then it’s Ingrid’s turn, more forehead bumping as she gets up and moves solemnly around between the three of them, holding each of their faces in turn between her gentle fingers, all blue eyes and somber face and wild curls.  
  
It’s alright. For now, they’re alright. He’s not going to ask for more. Ingrid settles back down on his lap, the attention of both children once more on the vid. They’re warm and dry, safe and together. He doesn’t want to know how it’s all come to this. It’s enough that it just is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The video the kids are watching at the end is part of the Wild Kingdom series that I used to watch as a wee lass. The bobcat video can be seen [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a4R318GMqeA&index=94&list=PLA1UeRQ_bbVtaBpPNaAmIr0IBeikxJzMM).


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's just a little hearing about what happened with Vido, right? Right?

Garrus calls him ‘chicken’ and all sorts of other similar words with the supposed intent of getting his ass motivated. He'd postponed and postponed and still the day before the hearing he has yet to come up with his statement.  
  
“You helped bring down a thresher maw! On foot! Stood up against husks and Reapers and Cerberus drones! Zee! You faced Vido and brought our baby back. And now you’re telling me you’re scared to go in front of a panel of a few people and explain to them why they should let us keep the kids?”  
  
“I never said ‘scared’. You said scared.”  
  
Garrus glares at him and fuck, he is so screwed.  
  
So he deflects. “Well, I just aimed and shot at all those. Are you saying I can just shoot these people and be done with it?”  
  
“ _That’s_ not on the table _at all_! Spirits!” Garrus looks about ready to slap him and Zaeed can’t really blame him. “It’s not like you to put something so important like this off. So what’s the problem?”  
  
“I’m not a speaker, alright? I’m a...doer. I’ll fuck it all up. I can’t say anything that will help us-”  
  
“That’s just not true, you ass. Look, just. I dunno. Just go sit down and try to figure out what you’d say to them if they were here in the apartment, lugging the kids out the door.”  
  
“So, shoot them is what I’m hearing.”  
  
“No! Damnit. Now you’re just being deliberately obtuse.” Garrus shoves a datapad in his hand and points at the balcony. “Go smoke a cigar and write down something. Anything! And don’t come back in until you’ve got two long paragraphs.”  
  
Zaeed grins at him. “The teacher thing is kinda hot-”  
  
“Oh, fuck off.” Garrus does smack him then, a good whap on the butt that sends him out the door. Garrus hands him a cigar-one of his long ones that takes a good hour to smoke-and his Batman lighter and closes the door to the balcony, making a ‘shooing’ motion with his hands from behind the glass.  
  
He rolls his eyes and sits at the patio table with a heavy sigh. He stares at the datapad for a long time. Hell. He knows what he wants to say. He’s just afraid there’s not enough time in the world to say it.   
  
~~~~~  
  
Before they leave for the meeting, Garrus pulls him aside and smoothes down the front of the dress jacket he’d chosen to wear. “You look good.” His subvocals purr with appreciation, just a hint of suggestion rumbling in the Turian’s voice.  
  
“Thanks.” His eyes roam over Garrus’ attire and he has to admit that his mate cleans up nicely. Nothing formal, just a new tunic and trousers in charcoal gray with a blue stripe nearly the same color as his markings. He eyes the fitted clothes with appreciation as Garrus pulls him into an embrace.  
  
“Come here. You need a hug.”  
  
“Garrus-”  
  
“And I think you should take the pistol from out of your pants.”  
  
He groans lightly, a bit peeved at being found out. “Maybe I’m just happy to see you.”  
  
“If you are, you have a second dick I’ve never noticed before.” He tugs the pistol from out of the back of his belt and places it in a dresser drawer. “No shooting.”  
  
“Spoilsport.”  
  
“Don’t think I don’t know about the knives,” Garrus whispers in his ear.  
  
He grins. “I get to keep those?”  
  
“Only for defensive purposes-”  
  
“Dad!” Paxton interrupts them. The running joke between Garrus and himself in the last few weeks had been which one of them he was referring to, since the boy seemed to call both of them by the same moniker lately. “Come on! We’re gonna be late!”  
  
“Right.” He surveys the kids, who’ve managed by some miracle to stay tidy in the last five minutes: Paxton in his black dress trousers and tunic, Ingrid in her new navy blue dress that makes her eyes look even more blue. “Let’s go.”  
  
~~~~~  
  
It’s a bloody long table for just six people. Shepard, Garrus, and himself on one side. On the other side of the table is their social worker Ms. Carter-a woman both fierce and determined to keep them all together, an Asari matron who is the children’s counselor, and a judge that Shepard introduces as the Honorable Andra Maynor. The kids have been escorted to a separate room. Presumably to have their heads scrambled or some such shit.  
  
  
The surprise comes in the first minute. “This is a hearing to determine the adoption of Paxton Sperstes and Ingrid Doe by Garrus Vakarian and Zaeed Massani.”  
  
Zaeed looks up sharply at Shepard and the man grins at him. This isn’t just a hearing on what happened with Vido. This is for real. His heart pounds at the thought: they could walk out today with the kids. The enormity of the moment hasn’t just hit him, but Garrus as well. He feels three fingers wrap around his hand and squeeze.  
  
“You are bonded mates in accordance with Turian law?” Judge Maynor asks.  
  
“We are,” Garrus answers. Zaeed hears the nervous trill in his mate’s subvocals before he clears his throat and takes a deep breath.  
  
The judge nods as if that’s good enough for her and scans over the paperwork before her. “Reports from Mr. Shepard, Ms. Kasumi Goto, your social worker, and the children’s counselor have been entered into the record. I understand you both have statements prepared?”  
  
“Yes, we do.” Garrus’ knee knocks against his and he jerks his head as if to indicate Zaeed should speak first. And what the fuck? They hadn’t discussed this. He’d assumed that Garrus would go first, wow them with his oratory ability, and then Zaeed could give his two paragraphs of mediocre tripe and they’d all breathe a sigh of relief when he was finished. He peers closer at his mate, narrowing his eyes in hatred, and clears his throat while he picks up his datapad.  
  
The words blur in front of him, barely able to pick out anything that even remotely makes sense: deserving of a good home, stability, rough patch, made it work…  
  
It’s all bullshit. True. But bullshit nonetheless.  
  
He tosses the datapad back onto the table, ignoring Garrus’ alarmed whisper-“Zee!”-and squeezes the hand that holds his. “My mate is the one with the way with words, or Shepard here even more so. I’m just a point and shoot type of guy. So, hopefully I don’t fu-uh...mess this up. I've had a shi-er, my childhood wasn't ideal. Never imagined I'd want kids of my own. Couldn't see bringing someone into this hellhole and feel good about it. Felt bad for kids who had a fu-a crappy life, but never considered I would be able to make any difference. But, uh...being bonded to Garrus changed all that. Started to think maybe someday we could help a kid who needed a home.  
  
"Then Shepard threw these two little bra-er, children at us. Didn't expect they'd still be around honestly. Couple weeks and they could be somewhere more permanent. But looking through their history, seeing all the shit they've had to put up with, just so they could stay together? Enough to break a man's godd-uh, heart. There was no way we could let them be shuttled off somewhere else. Paxton took care of Ingrid when neither one of them had anyone else. Ingrid most likely would have died if he hadn't rescued her. He's the bravest-" he pauses, fidgeting in his chair as he swallows down the lump in his throat and takes a deep breath to still his nerves, "-the bravest kid I've ever known. And Ingrid. Look. She's just...the sweetest little girl. She has a heart bigger than the universe. She loves everyone, it doesn't matter who or what you are. She's...she's  made me realize. Doesn't matter what your past is-and mine's pretty unsavory in places-she's gonna hug you no matter what. Almost makes a man think he's not such a bast-a wretch after all.  
  
"Your Honor, I can't imagine living without my husband, my bond mate. More importantly, I can't imagine what I would do without these two kids. They have, all three of them, become everything to me. And I think I've already shown that I will bloody well do whatever it takes to keep them safe."  
  
“Well,” the judge taps paperwork in front of her, “let’s talk about that. Because you did endanger Paxton when you took him along on the rescue mission. And I realize that you sought permission from Mr. Shepard first. Can you please explain why you thought it was in his best interest to place him in a dangerous situation like that?”  
  
He clamps his jaw shut on the retort that nearly escapes from his mouth that it’s none of her goddamn business. Because it is. Garrus’ hand grips his more firmly and he takes a deep breath. “He’d been responsible for her for so long, raising her on the streets, and then-”  
  
“But that’s not his job, Mr. Massani. His job is to be a child. It’s your job to be the parent, to shield them when you can. I understand the dangers of the galaxy. After the Reaper War, I think we’re all fairly familiar with how dangerous it can be to step out of one’s front door. But to knowingly take him into a situation where there were-” she consults the paperwork in front of her “-explosives, defence turrets, security mechs, varren. Not to mention a known criminal who had escaped from prison. I find it hard to believe that anyone would take a child into that sort of situation.”  
  
“Turian’s develop faster-” Garrus’ attempt to interject is met with a warning finger from the judge.  
  
“Please answer the question, Mr. Massani.”  
  
Zaeed scrubs his free hand down his face and straightens his back. “To be honest, you’re not asking anything I didn’t ask myself a thousand times during that week.”  
  
“So, why?”  
  
He breaks eye contact, staring at the table, finding the wood pattern that runs throughout to be highly interesting. He debates how much to say, how much of his past to reveal-not that he has any doubt that it’s hidden in paperwork there under her nose. But it’s the principal of the thing: voicing his private pain in front of relative strangers. His hand tightens on Garrus’ so hard he feels the blood pulse in his fingers.  
  
“Mr. Massani-”  
  
“Because when I was his age, the adults in my life were worthless shits-” he bangs a fist on the table, aware in the back of his mind that he shouldn’t, that he should rein in his temper, that Garrus is whispering to him, but he ignores it all “-and my sister died because of that. Because of me. And if I were that boy and someone had stolen my sister, I would have turned over _hell_ to get her back. I know how it feels, alright? To be helpless, _hopeless_. And no adult worth their salt around to even give a shit. You’re absolutely right when you say we took him into a dangerous situation. But the entire time, he had Garrus and I and Kasumi-” he taps the table with a forefinger to emphasise each name “-at his back to make sure he was safe as houses. There was no time during that week that his safety wasn’t at the forefront of anything we did. So would I do it again? Probably not. It’s not worth the fucking heart attack. But do I regret taking him? Do I regret the look on his face when we finally had Ingrid back safe and him knowing he had helped, hadn’t just sat around useless and helpless? Absolutely not.”  
  
He takes a breath and realizes everyone in the room is looking at him as if he’s gone completely insane. And it’s quite likely that he has, given the rant he’s just gone on. Shepard’s mouth is slightly open as he blinks at him, and Garrus is shaking his head slightly, apparently not sure if he should frown or just go straight for a bash upside the back of the head. Or both maybe. The counselor and social worker both appear to be very interesting in the the fabric of their shirt and a stylus spinning on the table respectively. Everyone in the room appears to be somewhat uncomfortable with his outburst. Everyone but the judge, who frowns at him in a glare that threatens to take the hair off his balls. And for a moment he thinks, _That’s it then. They’re taking away the kids and it’s all my goddamn fault and Garrus is going to kill me._ But then the judge smiles and he wonders if his derangement is catching somehow because she looks almost...giddy.  
  
She turns to look at Garrus. “Mr. Vakarian, would you like to add your statement to the record?”  
  
“I, uh. What?” He looks at the judge as if just realizing she’s in the room with them, blinking at her stupidly.  
  
“If you would like to enter in your statement, now’s the time to do so. Is it written out?”  
  
“Uh, yes?”  
  
“You may send it to me and it will be entered in the record.”  
  
Garrus does so and it’s all Zaeed can do to not rail on her. Shit shit shit. She’s made her decision. She doesn’t even want to hear what Garrus has to say. He’s so fucked. He stifles a groan from the physical pain that wracks his gut, covers his eyes with his hand. Garrus is going to kill him. Leave him. Kill him and then leave him and throw his guts into the Pacific Ocean. He wouldn’t blame him at all, but still.  
  
Fuckinggoddamnshitshitshit.  
  
Judge Maynor’s voice interrupts his mental tirade, sounding so very, very disapproving, “It’s obvious to me that you are attached to these children, that you have attempted to raise them in a way you think is in their best interests. However-” she takes a deep breath, fixing all three of them in her steely gaze and _oh fuck shit_ “-unorthodox those methods might be. I find it refreshing to have people in here who feel so passionately about raising children that are not only not of their own blood, but not even of their own species, that they are willing to risk everything in order to help those children in whatever way possible. Even if it means putting their adoption on the line.” Wait. What’s she saying? Zaeed chances a glance up at her to find that she is still smiling, kindly, at them from across the table. Her voice softens somewhat. “It’s obvious to me that you love these children. And from speaking with them, and confirming with their counselor, they love you both dearly. Just that alone would be enough to warrant this family to stay together. But from Ms. Goto’s statement, and Mr. Shepard’s recommendation, it just confirms what I’m about to do.”  
  
She pulls out a stack of papers and fixes her electronic signature to it. All three men stare at her in amazement. The paper is passed around for everyone to sign. And then an electronic copy for the records and to be sent to Palaven as well.  
  
He stares at it, unbelieving as Shepard slaps his back and Garrus pants quietly from anxiety next to him. “The hell just happened?”  
  
Garrus has never let go of his hand, anchoring him in place. As always. “I think we just became...parents.”  
  
Zaeed looks at his mate and sees the same expression he’s feeling on the Turian’s face: dumbfounded amazement. They look to Shepard, who’s nodding and grinning at them both. But before anyone can say anything further, the judge says, “As to this completely insane idea of raising the children on your ship, Mr Vakarian, I want background checks on all your crew,” she fixes Garrus with a steely look. “I don't care if they're Spectres, I don't care if their jobs are so secret even their mothers don't know what they do. You will send this to me anytime someone new is on your ship for the next year. And you-all four of you-will report in, physically to your social worker’s office, every month, also for the next year. No exceptions. I don't care if you're in the middle of catching the next Saren, or hot on the tail of a Reaper who managed to somehow escape. You will drop everything and get your asses back here or so help me I will hunt you down and you will never see these children again. Don't think I'm joking.”  
  
“Yes, ma'am.”  
  
“I want a tour of the ship. I want to see the living quarters, where the children and crew are sleeping. If the Council has a problem with that they can kiss my ass. And I understand you've purchased some property on Bekenstein?”  
  
They nod. The sale had just gone through, depleting most of their resources. But Zaeed had considered it money well spent. Finally all those credits from the Illusive Man could be put to good use. Until the sale of the apartment went through, they were pretty much tapped financially.  
  
“Ms. Carter shall be going there-” a finger came up as Zaeed opened his mouth to object “-I don't care if it's in the middle of nowhere. I think, in fact, we could arrange her first monthly meeting to be held there. Now,” her features softened somewhat as she looked over the men who sat on the other side of the table, “let me be the first to congratulate you. If anyone were more deserving to become a family, I’m not sure who they might be.”  
  
~~~~~  
  
Ingrid is riding on his shoulders up the gangway. He walks slowly, following the movers who carry the last of the crates holding the belongings that they’re taking on the ship with them. The rest of whatever they have is already on its way to Bekenstein, heading for a prefab house that rests on a bluff up above a deep blue ocean.  
  
Paxton trails behind them, carrying his backpack and worrying at his omnitool. “I need twenty hours of hierarchy history, plus thirty hours of Turian military history, plus twenty-five hours of galactic governments and diplomacy-how am I going to do all that in the next year? Along with all the other requirements?”  
  
“You’ll get it done. It’s not like you have idiots for dads who can’t help you study.”  
  
Garrus steps out of the ship, standing aside for the last crate, “Shepard messaged me. We can’t leave just yet. Something about something official he needs to give us.”  
  
He swings Ingrid down off his shoulders and she wraps her arms around his leg, leaning against him. “I thought all that shit got sorted. Don’t tell me there’s a problem.”  
  
“He didn’t say. Didn’t sound too serious though.” He peered over the man’s shoulder down the length of the landing dock. “There he is. Ask him yourself.”  
  
Shepard is moving as quickly as his limp allows, skipping on his good leg to catch up to them. He’s a bit out of breath when he reaches the gangway, grinning at them all. “Good, you haven’t left yet.” He’s carrying a gift bag in one hand. “I have something for you. But first I wanted to apologize because I lied to you about the hearing. I was afraid if you knew, you’d completely freak out and get all mental about it. Especially you,” he points at Garrus, whose eyes widen in denial for a moment before he shrugs and nods slightly in acknowledgement. “Anyway, I knew Judge Maynor was leaning in your favor. She’s nothing if not fair, and she really appreciated your honesty, Massani. However much you tried to piss her off.”  
  
Zaeed feels his neck warm at the memory, still somewhat embarrassed that he’d let his temper get the better of him. And amazed it hadn’t backfired. “Must be getting soft in my old age if I can’t manage to rile up a judge.” He makes a joke of it, but his heart isn’t in it as he considers the two children who have settled at their feet, Paxton’s deck of Battle Cards spread out as he explains the rules to Ingrid.  
  
“Well, it fits you,” Shepard says. He hands over the bag to Garrus and explains a tradition on Earth that some cultures celebrate the birth of a child with a silver cup, or a spoon, or a rattle engraved with the birthdate and name of the newborn and that since they didn’t even know Ingrid’s birthday, perhaps they should have one for each child with their adoption day instead. Garrus pulls out two cups from the bag and hands them to Zaeed in turn after admiring them.  
  
“Spirits, Shepard. These are really nice,” Garrus’ subvocals trill with emotion. “Thank you.”  
  
The cups are heavier than they look, thick sterling silver that warms to his palm as he rubs his thumb over the engravings of names and date-July 21, 2190-for each child. Shepard must have just had these done, since they reflect name changes both children had opted for: _Paxton Gregor Sperstes_ and _Ingrid Sperstes Vakarian-Massani_. Paxton had asked to take Zaeed’s middle name after he had told them he wanted to have his birth parent’s colony markings when he turned of age, but with Vakarian blue instead of the white it would normally be. Both men had readily agreed. And Ingrid had been sat down and told she could change her last name if she wished and if so, she could choose any of their names to use. She had studied them all carefully for long moments and then finally had pointed to Paxton. Then Garrus. Then Zaeed. Bemused, they had shrugged and grinned.  
  
“Big name for such a tiny girl,” Zaeed had said.  
  
“I have the feeling she’ll grow into it,” Garrus had said.  
  
“Shepard, look. Thanks,” Zaeed speaks to the cups in his hand, not quite able to meet his former commander’s eye. “For the kids. For everything-”  
  
“You don’t have to thank me. I know they’re in good hands. Just take care of them.”  
  
He does look up then. He wonders briefly how his life would have been had he not accepted that offer from the Illusive Man all those years ago. He had debated it, weighed out the pros-massive amounts of credits-and cons-almost certain death, for longer than he cared to admit. Things for him would have turned out none too well had he turned away from that offer, he suspects. It’s not something he cares to dwell on.  
  
“And there’s more to the present. Just for you guys. I think you’re going to need it.” Shepard chuckles darkly as he backs away, waving to the kids and leaving them standing on the gangway to Garrus’ new ship.  
  
“What was that about?” Garrus peers into the depths of the bag, then reaches in to search through the tissue paper. Zaeed watches his mate’s face as it turns from curiosity to amusement as he finds something down in the bottom. He pulls out a silver flask and looks it over closely. “I think this is yours.”  
  
The flask is about the size of his palm in the same quality silver as the cups. Engraved on one side: _Papa_. He smirks as Garrus pulls out the other one and shows him the engraving: _Daddy_. The enormity of what they’ve done hits him. Parents. Motherfuckingshit. They’re parents. He grins and plants a light kiss on Garrus’ mandible.  
  
“Ready to go?” Garrus asks. Mouth plates nip at his cheek.  
  
“Yeah.” He picks up Ingrid while Paxton stacks his cards. He gives his mate a long look. Fuck. How did he get so lucky? He’d be lying if he said he’d change anything he’s done leading up to this moment. All the mistakes. All the choices. He’d do it all again as long as it brought him right back to here and now. He wouldn’t have life any other way. “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> potionsmaster had the idea for the flasks, so: hat tip to her.
> 
> So this is about all I had planned to write for the boys, timeline-wise anyway. I still have some prompts and one-shots that I'm working on/thinking about. However I'm not going to say The End because one never knows. The boys haven't given me much rest for thinking about their story. And I think it's kind of interesting that the one year anniversary of my posting the first (it was meant to be a one-shot, honest!) story is only a couple weeks away. Seriously? The series is called Madness Because the Reasons Don't Make Sense for a reason people.
> 
> So I just want to say THANK YOU from the bottom of my weird and messed up heart for reading and commenting and kudos-ing and cheering me on while I wrote all this. I wrote for myself, because I love this pair beyond words. But knowing there are other crazy people out there that I managed to somehow convince to love this pair as well gave extra energy to continuing to write.
> 
> Gah! Now I've got something in my eye...goddamn feels...

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! [ Me on the Tumblr.](http://threewhiskeylunch.tumblr.com/)


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